Lion Head Mesa and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't wishing for untimely death or demise

He looked at the gift, then up to the odd woman, then back down again. The boy reached out to gently take the bone between ivory fangs, pulling it up into his mouth with all of the care he could.

It looked important, carved like that. It wouldn’t serve him to screw up a gift. He moved into his spartan quarters, resting the bone neatly on a rock shelf. After a moment, he gently reached up to push it a bit, straightening it out.

I..I’m afraid I don’t know any stories or songs. He wished he remembered any he’d heard as a child, but the memories of those days were like an old photograph, faded by the sun. 

It struck him suddenly that he could not remember the face of his mother.

You do? He asked, voice quiet.