A man holding all of his weight on the end of a broken stick limped toward Valery Hue, his eyebrows so full that his pupils could barely be seen behind him.

“Are they there, still, the songs of my ancestors?”

Valery held out a large recording device in her palm and handed it carefully to the man. The boxy frame held together, barely, as he snatched it from her hand enthusiastically. He struggled to turn it on.

“Here,” Valery reached into his hand and pulled a small lever tucked away in one of the many corners of the box. “Should work now.”

The old man let out a soft smile, and tears began to well in his eyes as the rough recording began to play. The sound of her footsteps lead into a song he knew well. He listened.

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“Did you see them there?”

She hesitated before speaking and looked to the sandy ground below her. “There aren’t many left.”

“It’s as I expected, then. In this condition, I’ve no value joining them in the hunt. You’ve done me a great service, my dear. Please, look up so that I may thank you properly.”

She did as she was told, and was greeted by a large smile that had wrapped around the old man’s face, just barely visible under his long beard. Tears streamed down his face.

“Thank you,” he replied, his voice trembling. “This proof was all I needed. You’ve done more than you know.”

The old man waved and turned back into the alley behind him. His robe rustled in the wind before he vanished into the sand.