A Good Memory
Faramir fingered his new tunic, a gift for his tenth birthday.
"Boromir, didn't Mother have a gown this color?"
"You remember that?"
"I remember her wearing it one night at dinner. She was cutting my meat. Father was laughing about something."
"Father laughed more in those days."
"His hair was dark, not grey."
"You have a good memory."
"Then you slurped your milk and it ran down your chin. Father said you had the manners of an orc."
Boromir's eyes narrowed. "A good memory is sometimes dangerous."
Faramir stuck out his tongue. Boromir tickled him until he begged for mercy.