"Ah? I tell a story?"
Durin had just sat down when a group of children surrounded him, led by what must have been a guest's child, his eagerness to hear from Durin's lips tales of adventure, friendship, and love.
Durin was not the type to tell such wholesome family stories. He was a centuries-old veteran whose mind was filled with the past and heart with the dead. The only stories he could tell were of youth lying in pools of blood, tears lost in rainy nights, and having to whisper "I love you" beside an ear with a blade still lodged in the body.
"I don't know how to tell stories."
"That can't be right, Mr. Durin makes such great movies, he must be modest," chimed in a young person, fanning the flames.
Fine, fine, fine, you love to hear stories, right?
Durin thought for a moment and cleared his throat, "Then I'll tell you a story I heard from a storyteller in Chang Tang. The story begins at a police station."
"Which police station?" asked a curious child.
