The Storyteller

A large, sprawling palace complex lies overlooking a green valley and a winding river. The valley is covered with huge palm trees, smaller shade giving trees and shrubs of all kinds. Further out to the east, across the slowly moving river farm fields can be seen, with farmers driving their oxen to plow them. The palace complex itself is home to the royal family of this land.

Though it counts less than fifteen towers in all, the complex is so large that it is a small city unto itself. There are many palace court yards which contain gardens with flowers of all variety. Like small green islands, these courtyards are the hub of palace life. Ringed by beautiful stone arches and covered walkways, many of these gardens are visited only by the palace staff.

From one such gardens, located somewhat off-center, comes the laughter of many children’s voices. Sitting on a grassy patch, ten children are laughing at the jokes told by an older man. His eyes are lit with sparks of joy. Just as every night, he’s telling stories and jokes to the children of the palace staff. And just as every night for a week now, a small shadowy figure could be seen lurking in the protective confines of the walkways shadows.

The sun was slowly creeping lower in the sky, turning it slowly into a deep soft red color, still mixed with touches of blue. Having sent the children to their parents, the older man sat there enjoying the shade, the smell of the flowers and the quite evening breeze. As it brushed his arm, the breeze felt like cold silk flowing over his bare skin. His senses were alive. Slowly turning his head, he suddenly spoke with a strong, clear voice.

“Come here, young one. Don’t be afraid.” As the small girl emerged from the shadows, he motioned for her to sit beside him.