Peace, sit you down, And let me wring your heart.

The storyteller comes to the town. She is a stranger there, though not unknown. She has come to town before but it was so long ago, none of the children had been born. The children that were there the last time were now the parents and they remembered her.
They hurried her into the town center. As they went, they told her little bits of news. The town, it seems, had fallen on strange times. The people had grown intolerant of each other – complaining of their neighbors and talking of bringing in a new leader who would be tough on such things.
The storyteller listened to their complaints and their plans, these people who, when she last saw them, had been children. Last time, they had clambered for stories of elephants, and funny crocodiles. Something had happened. They were calling their children to come listen to these sorts of stories again – but the storyteller held up a hand and suggested they wait.
“I have a story just for you first,” she said.
“We’ll have the children next. You first.”
The parents protested – no, no, they wanted the stories only for their children.
Then the storyteller told them what she was going to do.


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