The amber fire crackled, gold sparks shooting like stars, it cast shadows around the lime-papered walls. The dull roar of the winter storm outside and the fire’s growl mixed with the ancient voice of Grandpapa Past. His low whisper coaxed little baby Future away from the beasts and into a dream world where no one could hurt him. The light glinted against Past’s gold glass frames, the only thing that shined besides his eyes. Eyes as vibrant as the day they saw the creation of the sky. Baby Future pulled at his Grandpapa’s khaki slacks, trying to tug the stories out of his mouth faster. Wrinkled tissue paper hands waved about the air, spewing shadows upon the wall. Future looked on entranced as he visited the glass sands of Arabia, bathed in the green Aegean, climbed the Himalayas, flew in the endless sky of the West, all while sitting on the threadbare carpet.
Hormonal Present stood by the doorway, separating himself from the two but still cautiously listening, tasting the spiced wind on his tongue that came from India. His slouched form, curled, excited but too old for stories. He shouldn’t be concerned with dreams, only the step he took behind him. His Grandfather didn’t look at him, but the smile in his eyes shone brighter for his first Grandson. His gold teeth clacked faster, his whisper growing more intent as he brought the distant lands closer, knitting the barrier from the cold stronger. He was ready, he was going to change Present into something stronger. Something magical. Present was the strongest, the past was already gone, melted into rickety bones, while Future bounced about on his heels, young flesh innocent and vulnerable. Present was growing, muscles forming to life’s hardships, skin growing tougher, eyes growing more suspicious of the world. His Grandfather wasn’t aiming for any of that, he was aiming for his heart, still scared and lost on the wild path. Past knew what to do, chart him through the lands of the Untold, the stories left out of the history books. Stories hidden by humankind, to leave their kind defenseless. He would tell the stories of the Susurrus. He rolled up his cotton sleeves and began his magical knitting, his tongue the needles, his words the material and his Grandsons the ones who would wear them proudly.