Not knowing not to know not how to...

Before it was over it was forgotten. Someone had opened his head and emptied it of memories. Everything was gone; his history, his people. Nama cried and wrapped her hands around his wrist. His fingers curled and gently touched her. She remembered that touch and dark red fire and the smell of fresh earth at the start of the dry season. But this wasn't the same. A different man sat next to her now. It was not her father. He was not knowing. Killara sat like his forefathers had for hundreds of generations before him. Hewn out of dark rock, his white beard swayed like thick alyepe around his neck and his brooding shoulders hunched in silhouette against a startlingly blue sky. Why this little woman should be crying and holding his hand confused him, but he liked her. She could have been a tea tree blossum. His little tea tree blossum. There, a spark, like a memory of something, but it was a dying ember for burial. This had happened before he thought, maybe he would remember. Instead, he winked and smiled his toothless charm at her. "Don't cry little one, Alkwerte be here to look after you. You be right little one. You be right."