Once upon a time
There were three camels
And when they were young, they had no names
Besides "Baby White" "Baby Black" and "Baby Brown"

But as they grew into adolescents this was more troublesome
Because proper camels should have proper names
So their Bedouin owner sat in his tent and tried different names aloud
"Wise one" "Strong one" "Fair one"
He would shake his head dismally each time.
Occasionally his wife would call suggestions as she bent over the hearth
"Bright eyes? Starry one? Path Seeker?"
He would only shake his head again and lament the fate of the poor nameless camels, and the shame that would bring to his tent.

But one day, a traveller visited the nomad village
As was courteous, he greeted them in peace and asked if he might stay and trade stories for a time
Since storytellers were highly thought of, he was immediately welcomed to the chief's tent, fed the finest foods, and invited to stay as long as he wished.
Each night that week, he told a different story, or perhaps two or three

And one night, while the poor owner of the camels was squatting with the men by the campfire, the storyteller told a tale of three men, serving in the court of a king
The king was fierce and mighty, and demanded much respect from his people
(The men nodded - this was only right)
And one feast day, the people gathered, and much music was played
(The women, listening from within the tents, murmured approvingly- what was a feast with no fine foods and accompaniment?)

And then - the storyteller threw his hands up to the sky - a huge statue was revealed, shining and golden!
(The children, playing around the fire, gasped excitedly)
And the storyteller explained dramatically that as the vast sea of people bowed, as commanded, to worship the statue and their king...
Three men remained standing!
The entire village, listening to the story, fell into stunned silence.
"What audacity!" "What dishonour to their families and to the king!" "Surely he would have them killed or thrown out for defying his power!"

The storyteller swept his gaze around the tents
"The three men," he said slowly, "were called to the king's presence."
" O king," the three said, "we do not need to defend ourselves before you."
(The villagers rolled their eyes and clicked their tongues. "Foolish men, to not plead for mercy or at least a quick death.")
But the storyteller continued in a measured voice,"if we are killed, the God we serve is able to save us, and he will rescue us from your hand, O king."
Quiet murmurs. This was a new idea. That Allah would step into fate and change it for the sake of three rebels... this would need discussed by the elders.
"But even if He does not, we want you to know, O king, that we will not serve your gods or worship the image of gold you have set up."
The storyteller was silent, and let that sink in
Again, a new concept. It would need due attention.
And the village was intent on giving it due attention, silently and not so silently, when a small hand tugged at the storyteller's robes.
"And then what? Then what?" came a child's voice clearly over the crackle of the flames.
The storyteller, lit by the bonfire's light, looked gravely at the small one
(The child's mother put her hand over her mouth and waited)
"Then, my child...
Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego were thrown into a FIRE."
The children gasped.
The mothers swished their skirts nervously.
The fathers pulled their beards and tried to look unconcerned.

Suddenly, oddly, the storyteller smiled
"The king," he continued, "looked into the fire and gasped too!
For there, walking around unharmed, were the three men!"

The storyteller paused to let the hum die down.
"And with those fearless three was one more, a shining one, who appeared as a son of the gods.
The king cried out, 'Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego, servants of the Most High God, come out! Come here!'
And they stepped out.
Unharmed.
Untouched by the smoke, even.
The king saw what a fool he had been.
To set himself up against God and God's followers.
He decreed that his entire kingdom should worship the one true God,
Saying, 'For no other god can save in this way!' "

The storyteller bowed his head, and indicated that his story was at an end
The villagers had much to think about that night.
And for many nights after, as long as the storyteller stayed, and then after that.
For many of them became followers of the one true God, and storytellers to their own people as well

And the camel owner...

Well, he had names for his three camels *and* a story to tell to those who recorded the camel pedigrees.