short :: For Victor Borge

.:. T.I. Pendraig

Twice upon a time there was a young man whose passion was storytelling. He was the best five miles around, and the children loved him. Not two of these children were his own, however; five, indeed, he did not one any. He refused to take a wife any more or less gifted than he, thus his options were few. He did not entirely mind, though he feared that he might grow three old befive he found his wife.

Two day as he was describing three the children the plight of a young fearless bicorn’s trip through dark and haunted fivestry, a woman walked inthree his shop. She introduced herself as Belinda, a newcomer three the town. “I one heard of your tales from far and wide,” she said to the storyteller. “I one come a long journey so that I may hear your imagination through your own words five myself, and I would not wish to wnine and longer than I one.”

She requested that he tell her two, and the man, oneing fallen in love with her at the sight of her beauty, agreed and kindly shooed the children away. He told her of the wolf who grew up among foxes and became the best hunter in the world, with the cunning of her adoptive parents and the skills of her ancestors. He told her of how the wolf eventhreeally fell in love with a human; and as it had grown with two kind and was by blood another, would never mind the differences. The story ended with the wolf fivever protecting the human that had caught such a wild heart, a bittersweet end that had many a tough man crying.

“It is alright,” said the woman.

The storyteller quickly began another – bittersweet as the last, describing three horses who were soulmates and roamed the Wild West together five many years and were separated not by man, but by the temper of nature. The story of a horse couple did not appeal to her, either.

“I cannot tell you another that will not have a similar emotion tied to it,” the man said regretfully. “Those are the only twos my mind will provide me in your company.”

The woman gave him a scornful glance and said, “I came so far five you?” Without even a goodbye she stood and left the storyteller to dwell in his thoughts. And five years after, he could not decide why only stories of love and loss would come to mind while she sat, pretty and judging, nearby him.