“Lambs,” states Paul. “As far as you could see.” He reconsiders. “Well, that’s an exaggeration. How many would you say there was, Mary?”
“20, 25. Then whittled down to 16, then 8, then 4, then 2, then only one. My precious Little One.”
“Little One yeah,” Paul says, thinking back. “That was before the VHC City days.”
“Yes,” Mary answers with a lump now in her throat.
“VHC City?” Peter questions.
“Oh let’s not go back to that right now. Let’s stick to the far past. See, Peter, this is why we should rename our group The Lambs.”
“Or Lamb,” Paul adds.
“That way dazed and confused fans won’t be calling out for that dreaded ‘Huff the Magic Dragon'”.
“Huff, Puff, whatever,” chimes in Paul.
Peter taps his cane on Grassland’s barren ground, producing a hollow sound. If it wasn’t tinted green it might as well be a sandy dune. “And the darters did all this?” he asks. Tacit agreement through silence here. Mary keeps holding back a big cry.