Upon our introduction, I was struck that anyone still living could present such a graven image. The man shaking my hand was a towering giant,  chiselled from stone as though he himself was a place of mourning. Two shallow graves for eyes that ended in narrow slits punctuated with grey dots for pupils. as the hand that nearly completely entombed my own squeezed gently I heard him inhale deeply, the instrument of this sound itself a great neolith that ran down to a smile comprised of neatly aligned tombstones. “Mr. Fox! I’m so pleased to finally meet you!” he bellowed, his voice deep and smooth. I stammered, almost overwhelmed, until I gained my composure, “The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Lamb. I have been so very touched and flattered with your letters”, my own voice a squeak in my ears, though this did not seem to phase Mr Lamb, who upon hearing these words came a great change to his image. A light red appeared upon his cheeks like blooms upon a hill crest which seemed to spread colour across his whole face, his eyes softened and opened and his smile widened from the sharp slit of stones to a wide grin which aroused a swelling within myself  that burst from my face in the form of a wide smile accompanied by a short laugh. By the time I had finished shaking his hand, I knew I had made a friend for life.