When we got back to the bonfire, the circle of light the fire spread around him was not empty anymore. An old man was sitting there, slowly drinking from a chipped tankard. He turned his wrinkled face, for the most part covered in a long frizzy grey beard, to the girl, and smiled in that odd way that made his eyes sparkle. He was proud of her grandaughter, for she had turned into an amazing storyteller.

"You did very good indeed tonight Jul" he said, beckoning her to sit near him. She did and accepted a sip of water with a grateful smile. 

"You," he went on "you have what it takes to be an even greater storyteller than me, child. I just think you should make longer pauses before a crucial point of the story, you know, to keep the atmosphere more tense."

"I still have a long way to go before getting as good as you, gramps... it was a miracle the kids were focused." She sighed, never satisfied enough.

"Don't sell yourself short Jul! They weren't just focused, you were keeping them just on their toes, and I swear the girl with blonde braids was almost drooling! And the bigger boys when you described Kyill! They sure are growing... if you get whant I mean..." he added with a cunning grin.

They laughed togheter. After having finished to drink they made sure the fire was to stay strong until dawn at least, laid their blankets on the bare earth and fell asleep immediatly, both the old man and the girl. 

They were storytellers, the two of them: a strange duet of grandfather and grandaughter who travelled around the realm of Thyocratis up and down all year long, telling their tales to everyone who was willing to listen to them for  few coins.  

No one really knew how old Thox was; he had been wandering around since before the oldest of his listeners was born, so just really few people could say they met him in his youth and be telling the truth. Three grannies only could still remember the time when he travelled with his parents, and even in those far away years he was agreed to be the greatest bard of the realm, probably of the world. It seemed like he himself had been a witness to the stories he told. He never married, and even though lots swore to be his lovers, he assured he never loved anyone: he preferred to name the street his wife, and freedom his lover. That until he found out, all at once, he had a daughter. And a grandaughter, to add. His hair was greyish already, and never would he have thought he could become parent. Sure, he had had some quick relationships on the go, but the thought of offsprings of his own never in his life had crossed his mind. 

And all at once, here it was: a traveller with a mail, and inside that mail, the written proof he was father, and that his daughter had just died giving birth to a little girl who nobody wanted to care for, given that his one-stand lover was too old already to do so and near death herself and the father was nothing but a fool, sick in his head, with whom his daughter had fallen in love with but who was now even crazier than before and always trying to end his life. 

He left immediatly the city he was staying in. Who knew what could have happend to the child in a situation like that? He decided to take her away and give her to some random family he know would have cared for her: he didn't want a tie to his freedom nor bounds to keep him focused on something else than the job of the bard he loved so much. And he didn't change his mind even when he saw that little rosy thing all wrapped up in a cloth sleeping soundly in his arms. He didn't stay long in the village where his "family" lived, he didn't cry for a never known daughter nor recognised an ancient lover; he took the child and went back to the street, his mind set on finding a family for that infant. 

And who would have thought that one night he would have seen his life eventually and all at once twisted in a way he never ever took in consideration. It was evening, he was telling tales to some passers-by in hope they could have taken the child with them once the story ended, and then, what a strange path fate decided to take, his eyes dropped on the child. She was there, in her basket full of blankets, one of her tiny hand in her mouth as she watched Thox. She was too little to speak or understand the world around her, she could barely eat smashed mushes. But she was looking at him as she knew perfectly what was going on, as she was listening with care to his tale, with marvel on her face and her green eyes as bright as the stars. 

It was like a lightning had struck him. He went on watching the kid until he finished narrating, and never once she stopped staring back at him. And he knew he didn't want to let go of her. He took the brave decisione to raise her up all by himself and he discovered along the way an adoration for the grandaughter, for she loved tales as much as he did and so she never tied him up as he had feared, on the contrary she loved travelling and telling stories too (and she was quite good at it indeed). 

It had been seventeen years since she came into his life, and now she was a storyteller too, and also quite liked in the kingdom and acknowledged as Thox's worthy successor. Whilst her grandad  was taller than average and brawny, with harsh features and stringy hair, she was of normal height but as slim as a cane and with odd but not ugly traits she probably got from her dad, for he was told her mother was very similar to him in looks. Jul's hair was stringy too, but less than her gramps', and quite long and of an ashy dark blond. The only thing she took from Thox, alongside the innate ability of telling stories, were the eyes, green and big, lively, full of curiosity and wit. 

Jul was a free spirit, she loved to have her independence and she always told Thox mornings tasted like freedom, be them the dewy ones of spring, the rainy ones of autumn, the hot and the colds of summer and winter. Something he always laughed at, but couln't not agree to. 

That morning too she woke up to that sweet taste. It was a sunny day, perfect for travelling, as she noticed when her eyes had got used to the light. She rolled to a side and when she noticed she was falling asleep again she pushed her blanket away and a cold breeze made her shiver, waking her properly. She sat up, yawned and then finally she got on her feet while rubbing her eyes. It was always a great deal getting up in the morning, but the real challenge was having Thox wake up. He slept like a log, not even a thunder could have taken him away from his sleep. 

Jul turned to her gramps, ready to tire herself to death. 

But Thox was not where he was supposed to be. His blankets were all crumbled, pushed near the extinguished bonfire, and he was not there. She immediatly knew something was wrong. He couldn't have woken up before her, impossible, but most of all... it couln't be.

An ancient-looking, thick book was lying on the floor, open, as it had been thrown without care. Thox's Diary. Its most important good was lying there, as it was garbage. And Jul was sure he took the utmost care of that book, to such an extent to never let her read it nor to ever separate with it. 

Something really terrible had happened, and she didn't know what, or where her grandfather was.