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. I thought myself a dismal failure. But then I
came to Flotsam. There were no storytellers among the
kender, dwarves, and gnomes. When they heard me tell my
tales, it was as if the first dragon had taken wing. Their eyes
opened wide, and they listened and stared with awestruck
fascination.
Once, soon after arriving in Flotsam, I told a story in a
tannery to a small group of kender in exchange for a meal.
The tanner was crying by the end of my tale. One of his
friends took me home to feed me. As I ate, he told me that
the tanner's daughter had died during the last new moon.
The father did not cry at the funeral, yet he clearly loved his
little girl. "Why," he asked me, "could the tanner weep for
the people in my story and not for his daughter?"
I wanted to say that I was such a wonderful storyteller that
I could make a stone cry. But I didn't. I had no answer -
until now. I remember that Jawbone once said that stories
are the windows of life. They let everyone peek inside to
see that they are not alone in their suffering. It's that
knowledge that gives them hope when their world is bleak,
makes them laugh when they see their own folly, makes
them cry when tears are the only answer
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