Stavanger Bay all the stars in the sky

"A thousand billion and four," he corrected, equally serious.

He paid Charon the respect a storyteller deserved, all the more because of the personal dimension to it. It was told with all of the hallmarks and embellishments of a child, charming and simple and enthusiastic, if not a bit scatterbrained. But skills could be refined, and there is something to say for the stories of children. Indeed, Aesop gave Charon his due respect and attention for a good long while, but his mind began to wander as Charon drudged through the finer (unnecessary, though Aesop wouldn't say it) details, his eyes slightly glazed but otherwise seemingly attentive.

At the climax of the story, Aesop flinched. The 'bam' and subsequent gasp startled him out of his stupor, and he blinked a few times, quelling the instinctive irritation that flared up in the split second after the outburst. And then he grimaced. Poor Julooke indeed. Charon turned to him with wide-eyes, tears threatening. Aesop cleared his throat, glancing quickly at the star in question. "Right," he said, a placeholder, "but there's no higher honor than to stand in the stars. When you're up there, you ain't ever goin' away." It was a weak attempt at consolation, but grief had never been his forte. Issues of anger and matters of the heart he could solve, but there was no resolution save time to ease grief.