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"Yes, if it pleases you. You can try and structure it like that if you want but do try and avoid any glib words." He took another quick and desperate peek through that still barely opened crimson metal door "Then you can read it back to me, and to others, once we are far and away from this place �" safe and under the sun."

"Can I make some drawings too?" My heart jumped in expectation. "Well," He looked at me again, with the most patient of smiles "yes, certainly. Whatever helps you in the telling, why not?" He rummaged again for some crayons which he then handed to me, and then he hesitantly returned his worrisome look to what was waiting on the other side of that door.

"Are we going now?" I asked while holding all the things he gave me as tightly as my little weak hands possibly could, "Father?"

"Where could they be?"I heard him whisper "Well, no matter." He took a deep breath, "Our way seems to be clear." He then turned to me, with his eyes staring at mine in a more serious way than I had thought possible. "This is it. Are you ready?"

"Yes..." I scattered all the pencils and crayons across all pockets available to me and, while holding that notebook tightly in my right arm, I slowly extended my left one. He gently took hold of my hand, caressed my fingers a few times behind a comforting smile, and then pulled me with him...

... and that is why I wrote all that you now hold.

"I see..." The Tinker admitted a bit dubiously when we were already back his place, "That is quite the tale." His fingers constantly caressing the well-worn cover of that notebook; so easily displaying all the eagerness that his eyes would not share.

"That is what happened."

"Well, and what then?" He asked as he gestured me to take a seat. We were now in what he called a 'living room', and I could see all sorts of things scattered around that makeshift table standing distinguishably in the middle. "Go on, sit down. Wherever you like." he insisted after placing my notebook in the centre of that table. Then he turned around, towards some cupboards and a device leaking out all sorts of fire.

"Can I take this one?" I asked regarding one of the few chairs I found in a usable condition.

"Go right ahead." He promptly allowed, without even looking to see what I could be referring to, as he was now clearly too busy preparing something. "Thank you."

"And then," he asked me again, "what happened after?" He turned around holding a tray. On it rested a couple of exceptionally large and funny looking mugs, and between them was a smoking metal pot.

He approached the table, and after having planted all the preparations, he began pouring some orangey looking liquid into each of those mugs.

"There you go." He said as he finished pouring, "This will do you good."

"Thank you."