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Chapter 77: The Storyteller
I
The old man stood near the willow tree. He stood there, alone, forgotten. He was more than helpless; he was stronger than most men of his age. His face was stern. His nose was a bit bigger, crooked near the tip. His jaw was strong, almost anvil-like. His hair went in waves down his back.
The children left his storytelling to play. Will they return? There are always those who will listen to his tales. He waited. Nearby, the children were playing with their own hand-made wooden swords. The man still waited, nobody returned. It was time to go. He turned, waited a bit more and walked towards the large, moss covered, building. His sixth sense was working overtime. One of the children was running behind him. He turned.
"Where are you going?" the child asked.
"It's time to rest," he replied.
"Not until you finish your story."
"So, you didn't forget."
"No."
"Good to hear," the man stopped in his track,
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