As Tarlos died, he did not think of his brother, and he did not think of his mother or father. He did not think about his toddling son, as he failed to think of the woman had had given his son life. Part of his mind searched for their faces, but he did not see them. He lay in the dirt with a spear through his chest, neck broken, his thick warm blood pooling around him. Laughter was fresh in his ears, and he did not think of any one specific person. Instead, he thought about a tooth. A single, lone tooth stood out in the back of his mind.
