"Story story!"
My grandma would say under the cool breeze of the midnight sky, with the moon, shining with all its' splendor above us. "Story"!!, we would call out like little chicks.
It was always the intro to a heartbreaking or heartwarming story. Grandma Arike, a dainty old woman, who lost her husband and daughter to the cold hands of death, would tell tales of past heroes to us, the four grandchildren nature blessed her with before it took her child. All this she did, to help us forget the missing spot our mum would fill if she was here.

We were young at that time, I, the eldest was just an eighth year...