With his stories finished, the old Storyteller creaked slowly to his feet to survey the expressions on the young faces before him. He observed everything ranging from boredom to excitement with a small smattering of thoughtful looks among the bunch. However, among the children listening to his story, he noticed one in particular. Her small face was no more than nine or ten years old and almost obscured by the oversized woolen cap that some concerned parent had probably tugged over her hair to protect her from the chill night. But underneath the overprotective headgear, she looked up at him with something akin to elation with a mild touch of confusion. As the other children began to make their way home, she alone remained in the clearing. When all the other children had finally left, she spoke.

“Excuse me Mr. Storyteller, but I have a couple of questions."

The storyteller again regarded the young girl with some curiosity. The children he told stories to usually had their fill within a few hours and, by the end, most were impatient to get home to the supper their parents had waiting for them. They almost never stuck around to chat and certainly never to ask questions. Indeed, the Storyteller himself was looking forward to the warm bowl of soup and fresh-baked bread that his hosts would have waiting for him upon his return.

With a small smile that conveyed more weary patience than real interest, he spoke to the child.

“Of course, dear girl, how can I help you?”

Without hesitation, the inquisitive youth rapidly fired questions at him.

“Why did you stop your stories after the taming of fire and the Great Flood? Those happened ages ago and surely interesting things have happened since then.”

“What happened to Ra? Is he still all alone out in the Universe?”

“What about Ymir? If he’s the Earth and he’s just sleeping, will he ever wake up? If he does, what happens to us?”

“Where are the gods now? Why aren’t they with us all the time like they used to be? Why can we only talk to them occasionally through prayer?”

As the girl drew breath to begin another round of inquiries, the Storyteller raised a hand to pause her.

“Tell me, child, do you know how many times a Storyteller is required to tell stories to children as they grow up?”

The girl furrowed her brow and thought for a moment.

“Ummm it’s a few times, right?”

“Three to be exact. And do you know why we wait to tell our stories at three different times during your childhood?”

“Because doing them all at the same time would take too long?”

“Well it would certainly take a while, that’s true enough. But the real reason is that the later stories that we have to tell about the gods and humanity are not fit for the ears of young children. You’re a very inquisitive soul, I’ll give you that. But most of your questions will be answered a few years from now when you’re old enough for the second and third rounds of stories.”

The young face before seemed crestfallen.

“But…couldn't you tell me them now? I promise I won’t get scared.”

But the Storyteller was already shaking his head.

“I’m sorry little one, but I have rules to follow as a Storyteller. Besides, telling you the stories would take much too long and I wouldn’t want your parents to worry.”

A strange look flickered over the face of the young girl before she replied, a little too hastily.

“Oh, I’m sure they won’t mind! Please? I really want to hear more stories!”

Even as she uttered this request, she could see the Storyteller shaking his head once again.

“I cannot do so tonight young lady. It’s getting late and I would not want to keep my host waiting on me for supper.”

With a look of disappointment, the youth nodded and sighed before making one last request.

“Okay, I understand. But could you answer just one question for me?”

The Storyteller smiled at the girl’s defiant persistence and before responding.

“Okay, just one question.”

Looking up into the Storyteller’s elderly smile, the girl tugged at her woolen cap slightly before blurting out her question.

“Could you tell me why the gods won’t talk to me?”

However, before the Storyteller even heard her question, he knew what it would be. As the child tugged at her cap, a few strands of her hair fell loose from it and had quickly grabbed his attention.

The color was light blue.

Damn. He thought to himself. Of course she’s curious. The poor girl.

He took a second to process both the hair and the question before coming to a decision.

“Tell me, child, what is your name?”

A puzzled look passed over her face before she responded hesitantly.

“Myra. Myra Kahani.”

“Well Myra, it’s nice to meet you. My name is Roam. I’ll tell you what, if you really want to hear more stories, you can come to my host’s house tomorrow evening and I will tell you a few. How does that sound?”

Myra’s face lit up at the news and she nodded enthusiastically.

Roam gave her a kindly smile before turning to leave. As he did so, however, Myra cleared her throat and spoke up again.

“Umm Mr. Roam? One more thing?”

Roam turned back for a second to look at Myra before motioning for her to continue.

“What about my question? My last question I mean. You never answered it.”

Roam thought for a moment before responding.

“I promise I’ll tell you what I can tomorrow. That’ll have to suffice for now. Now hurry home before your parents come looking for you.”

And with that, Roam shuffled off into the approaching dusk towards his host’s home and a bowl of hot soup.