Once Upon a Time
----------------

Diane sat, thoughtful and tired, watching Niko, who seemed
to be in much the same state.  She crept over to him and
whispered, "How are you doing?"  He shook his head, not
wanting to answer.  She regarded him thoughtfully.  "You're
a Galliard.. like me... but you never tell stories."

"Being pack leader..." Niko shook his head, unwilling to
continue that line of thought.

"Would you... would you tell me a story?  Niko?"  Diane
asked, almost holding her breath, hoping...

Niko thought for a bit, and assented.  He rested his hands
on his knees, seeming to grow calmer before Diane's eyes as
he slipped into his story.

"Once upon a time.. there was a tree who stood all alone on
a hillock - it grew very straight, very tall; a stout,
stern looking tree of no particular type.  One would,
perhaps, remark upon how alone it looked, having no other
trees for company, but, other than that, it drew no notice
whatsoever.

"In the summer it was green... in the spring it decked
itself in small brown berries... in the fall, it slipped
out of its leaves, like a dog shaking water off its back...
and in the winter, it reached its limbs up to the sky,
seeming to welcome the cold, white mantle drifting from the
heavens.

"No one knew precisely how old the tree was, for it had
always been there - always the same, never changing.... a
fixture of infinity.  Sometimes the children would run and
play beneath it... and sometimes lovers would carve one
another's names into the dusty bark.  Most times, however,
it remained alone - as much a part of the land as the hill
upon which it grew.

"The tree did not mind... it had its place - its time, and
did not think much of its solitude, for there were many
things to keep it company...  the wind blowing over the
mountains... the ants crawling along its roots... the
wandering bumblebees and butterflies, carrying stories from
far far way - sometimes from further than the town, nestled
below.

"From one branch, neither high or low, a tire swung on an
old rope - slowly, meditatively, pacing away the seasons in
small, fraying strands, caught by the wind.  Sometimes the
children would come to swing, or climb... those were
special times.  And each was like new, for the tree had
forgotten the last time, and laughed and played until the
sun set behind him.  And then it would listen to the tramp
of little feet as giggling-bright-eyed, the children
returned to their homes.

"On one day, any day for the tree... a man came to sit
beheath its branches, catching a respite from the heat,
perhaps, or curious... like others, to see what
predecessors had come and gone before.  The tree watched
him sit, and lean his back against its trunk, and lose
himself it whatever colorful fancy danced behind his eyes.

"The tree listened to his breathing, felt the gentle rise
and fall of his chest - slowly.... slowly.... slower till,
slipping into a state of slumber which reminded the tree of
its own dormant dreams in winter.  The man touched the tree
affectionately, speaking in nothing more than a whisper -
something about time... the tree wasn't sure.

"Time and happiness.  Many hours passed.... and the man did
not rouse - the sun set..... the stars shone clear and
bright... at dawn, the roosters crowed from down below,
heralding the emergence of the sun from his resting place.
The tree wondered if the man was going to stay with him
forever.  At noon, when the sun was just above the topmost
branches... others came, a small group - one with a shovel,
one with a hoe... one with a book, and two children.  The
men worked, and dug a deep hole, next to the tree, while it
watched, curious, as always.  They took the man who had
been resting so peacefully agasint its trunk, and planted
him in the earth.  One of the children cried softly, and the other
smiled, laying a small pounch next to the man's head as he
rested, deep in his hole.  Then they covered him up, and spoke
soft words... while the children ran and gathered stones, laying
them in a circle around the man in his hole.

"They left flowers, and candles, lit in a ring, which shone
like a halo as the sun rested once more.  The tree wondered
where the man had gone - wondered if he, too traveled
further than the butterflies and bumblebees, past the town,
far far below.  It waited and watched... and waited some
more, finally forgetting as it always did - until one day..
from below... it heard a gentle whisper from under the
earth.  It watched with awe as a second tree grew, from
where the others had planted the man, so long ago.  It knew
what it was like to live in solitude, at that moment, for
it knew... it would never be alone again."  Niko let the
silence follow the ending of his story.

Diane sat quietly, absorbing it, then looked into his eyes.
 "That's... a beautiful story, Niko.  Thank you."

Niko smiled at her, the tranquil peace that the story had
brought him filling him, surrounding them both.  It let him
for a few minutes' time escape the pressures pack
leadership brought, the constant terrible surety that he
was not good enough, could not be, yet that there was no
one else.  Stories... brought peace, that was their wonder,
their gift.  He almost wished... but no.  He wanted to
thank Diane in return, for drawing the story forth, but
instead, he patted her shoulder, and smiled, and left her
to her thoughts.  She knew anyway, he was sure.