“I thought we’d bury him. We haven’t too many other options. The ground is frozen, so it won’t be easy. I’ll have to find the pickaxe…” he muttered.
“If we bury him, we ought to name him, don’t you think? He ought to have a name.”
When he turned around there were tears in his eyes.
“If that’s what you want,” he sniffed.
I examined the tiny creature again. I haven’t a clue what I was looking for; some spark or glimmer of life, maybe some early indication of personality. I tried to think of a meaningful name, something appropriate or symbolic. I tried to ignore the fact that the tiny thing in my arms was just malformed tissue and demised organs.
“I think he looks like a ‘Gregory.’”
Edward nodded absently. “I like Gregory.”
He knew as well as I that Gregory didn’t look like anything. H
