Characters: Teague and Jack
"What do they mean?" A tentative voice asks. Teague's taken aback by the comment – not so much the question itself, but by the lad's tone; Jack has never been meek by anyone's estimation.
He looks up from his task, fingers knotted in a mane of black braids, interspersed with shimmering flecks of silver.
"In your hair. All the…" the child trails off, hands gesturing in that vague, off kilter manner which can only be described as 'Jack'.
Teague pauses for a moment, churning the inquiry over in his mind before articulating a response. He tugs at a cross, its intricate engravings sharp under calloused fingers.
All his sins bared, the burden of his guilt a constant reminder, lest he ever dare to forget.
How does one explain that to a child?
He shrugs lightly, more to himself than the boy. "They're… stories," he finally settles upon.
Jack smiles, amused. "Of what?"
Teague anticipated that question well enough. "People I've met. Things I've done," he mutters, carefully weaving locks of hair and string around the cross to tie it in place. "My life."
His son strikes up a thoughtful expression, eyes narrowed and downcast as he takes the information in.
"That's not very much," Jack finally states, boldly meeting his father's eyes.
Teague chuckles at that. "Not everything, Jackie. Just things best left unforgotten."
The boy sucks in a breath, eyes wide. "It's a graveyard!" he whispers.
A wolf's grin is Teague's only response.