There is a lily pond which glitters in the sunshine of a sweetly wooded glade, where a pair of golden eyes once peeped out of the reeds and saw the beginning of all stories.

          The eyes saw an old woman walking beside the pond with a notebook in her hand.  The woman was The Ancient Teller of Stories, and she came looking for the Mythical Beasts from the Dawn of Time.

 Gryfons and harpies, sea-monsters and hobgoblins, centaurs and satyrs – all manner of strange beings hurried to that glade, but the first to arrive was the unicorn.

          “You can tell my story,” he told the woman.  “Put me with the beautiful ladies of the greenwood.  I will spill fairy magic into their tales.”

The Ancient Teller of Stories scribbled the unicorn’s words into her book.

          “Rivet!” said a little voice in the reeds.

“Tell my story!” cried the faun.  “Look at my beautiful hooves, and my mischievous tail.  Put me in Ancient Greece, with the gods of wine and song.”

The Ancient Teller of Stories filled another ten pages.

          “Ooh dear,” said the little voice in the reeds.

          “Tell my story!” roared the dragon.  “Look at my teeth, feel my fire.  Put me in the high places of Christendom.  I’ll scorch all the knights and steal all the ladies!”

          “Very well,” said the Ancient Teller of Stories, sharpening her pencil.

          “Crickey!” said the little voice in the reeds.

          “Look at me!” said the winged horse.  “I will carry your story’s hero to safety on my broad back, and my wings will sweep across the tree tops to a Happy Ending.”

          The Ancient Teller of Stories scribbled and scrawled.

          “I like that one,” said the little voice in the reeds.

          A mermaid came up from the water to tell her tale of Tragic Love, and then a wandering star came down from the sky.  Soon, there was a queue of wild and wonderful beings which stretched away over the hills and into the sunset, and every creature waited eagerly to tell a fantastic tale, and every tale was written down.

          But when the last of the Mythical Beasts had gone, the Ancient Teller of Stories parted the reeds, and saw the froggicorn.

          “Why, you are the loveliest of them all!” she cried,  “With your golden eyes and your emerald green skin, and your shiny, pearly horn!  Don’t you want me to write your story down?”

          “Ooh no, I’m too shy,” said the froggicorn.  “I was invented by a little girl who was dreaming over her work in a classroom this morning.  She must rub out my picture before the teacher sees her book – so don’t, oh don’t tell anyone you saw me!”

          “So be it,” said the Ancient Teller of Stories.  But before she left, she whispered some magical words to the reeds, and from that day on, if anyone lies down by that pond in the sunshine, they will dream the story of The Loveliest Mythical Beast Of Them All.

© Copyright Kay Green