In a tree nearby, one little girl was reading a book, nestled cosily among the branches.īeneath her perch, Su’s brothers were playing tag with their cousins, squealing and screaming and running like wild things. Children were laughing, women were gossiping, and men were making sandwiches. On an idyllic summer’s day in Scotland, a family was having a picnic in the park. Just a little slip – of a knife, of the tongue, of one’s attention – and death will catch you in its waiting arms. Easy as breathing, though the irony is understood. All it takes is a little faith and a little sacrifice. There is magic enough to give the story a life of its own, to turn its own wheels and spin its own fate. There is magic in characters who breathe and feel and fear and fight in a world filled with love and hate and the hearts of a hundred thousand dreamers. It’s the power of hearts and minds and imaginations joined together. There is magic in a story, in the telling of tales.
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