Perhaps it should be the other way around, him sitting with her, telling stories to help her fall to sleep. And it has been when she was younger, unti... she decided she was too old for such things. It becomes her choice for these late conversations, so she comes to him. He ends up telling stories just as he did when she was a child, but they emerge out of her questions. This time he needs to impart wisdom rather than narrate history from his centuries of experience.“It doesn’t seem fair,” she. There really had been a stray dog, but it had been back home. She'd known her father wouldn't let her keep it, so she'd made a bed for it behind the shed, where no one would see the old box with a tattered blanket in it. She'd sat there, stroking the dog for hours. It was quite content to let her. And when it had slept, sometimes its legs moved and it yipped, like it was running ... chasing a rabbit ... in its sleep.She heard the sound of her mother gasping, and raised her head. It had been. More

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