Once upon a time...

There was a little girl
Her father was a mighty hunter

(Another day, i shall tell you the story of when her mother brought her father a small yet powerful weapon....
But for now, know that he had this fearsome weapon.)

In their village, the mountain lions roamed the streets, and they yowled their presence.
Every night
All summer, every night.

And the little girl's father would take his weapon and shoot at them.

Every night.
All summer.
Every night.

Each evening, as the sky dropped over the village, he loaded his weapon with pebbles.
He checked the breeze
He aimed out the window
He coolly fired at the mountain lions

Every night he spent scaring them away, protecting his streets
And his wife would put her arms around him because her small children could go to sleep in peace
She was a very loving wife
But also a very tidy one

One day she was cleaning the house, and, by chance, threw away the precious pebbles

There had been peace lately in the village
But that night, the mountain lions returned
And the father reached with his right hand for the weapon
And with his left hand for the pebbles
But alas!
His left hand came back empty
And his children began crying
And the noise in the streets grew steadily louder
And his wife began to worry

So the brave father-hunter grew creative out of desperation
And he searched the room
Only to find a small pouch of sweets to suck on during illness
So he quickly loaded his weapon with the new ammunition
And commenced firing

And suddenly, there was blessed silence
He gave a smile of jubilatioin
And his children stopped crying
And his wife started humming, secure in the knowledge that her husband had once again taken care of their family

But just as the father turned from the window...
A new noise began
A deeper, rougher noise
The mother came into the room, confused

They stared out the window together
And wondered what new threat had arisen
And suddenly, they laughed
They looked at eachother and shared a small smile
"Those were not mountain lions, this time," they agreed with satisfaction
"Those were the village wolfhounds...
And they had sore throats tonight."


The End