Chapter Text
The stories gave themselves to him. He could sit by the hearth and have the flames whisper stories to him. The fire was born from stars and lightning and from deep in the earth, and it told him of things it had seen, of monsters and magic, and wars fought for love. The burning wood sang softly of forests where princes were lost, white stags roamed, and unicorns kept the pools pure.
The smoke sighed to him, and took the shape of mermaids who wanted souls or twining roads walked by youngest sons. Firelight flickered over the stones of the hearth and they spoke in their own voices made of wavering shadows of castles under siege and places were summer never came.
The world was full of whispers and every voice had a story to tell. An essential part of being a good storyteller was being able to listen and hear the stories before passing them on to those who couldn’t.