He was storytelling. His words were smooth and effortless, like he wasn’t even thinking about them before they came tumbling out. It was a story about a grumpy dragon who lived alone and was lonely without even realizing it, until a smaller, sweeter dragon stumbled upon his cave. And then came a unicorn that upended their lives. Except, from the way he told the story, it didn’t seem like he thought of the unicorn as an inconvenience or a disaster. Instead, he made it sound like the visitor was a gift. And though he’d disguised this tale as one of make-believe with mystical beings, I had no
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