She told magnificent stories. Tales older than memory and grander than fiction. Loves lost and won, sorrows which overwhelmed and were overcome. She had a gift with words. Liara could sit enraptured for hours listening and learning, a small crowd could easily gather around in public to listen with her. It was like being an acolyte, learning and questioning and debating. Liara felt younger than she was as the tales were woven, as other came and watched. It was a connection she never thought she would have, a surety of heart that made her smile and weep. While her roguish grin and penchant for diverting on side stories were new and all her, her tales were warm and familiar. She could see a similarity between them now, and wondered if her mother had taught her father or if it had been the other way around.