In the train, a kobold sits, staring blankly at a bit of... bit of whatsit. S'hard, he thinks. S'got squiggles on, and he wishes he knew what they mean. It seems important.

S'gotta be, right? He wouldn't just--

The things outside are singing again. Sounds awful. Like drinking a cuppa without

Without what, though? For that matter, what's a cuppa?

Gingerly, he holds the whatsit close, and lets a claw drag across its face. Whatever it is, it's pretty. All shiny. S'got pictures on--and there's a thrill that runs through him. Pictures! He knows what those are!

His seat rumbles, and he almost looks away from the-- the. Whatsitcalled? Something this shiny and with so many pictures feels like it ought to have an important name. He oughtta know what the name is. Something like this is worth remembering.