The singing had stopped, but she still swayed a little from the strange and healing music that had flowed over the village. Then Weaver bowed her head in shame. Look up and see your old friend and hear me. Weaver looked up and the Crane was right in front of her and she could smell that clean windy scent it always carried on its wings. She felt the warmth as the bird covered her with its great wings.
Words are powerful things.
They can pass on a curse or a blessing from one listener to another. But they did not destroy you or the stories. Only your will to continue was lost. Now that it is found you must go on. It is for you and the other Tellers I meet to pass on the words that heal and create.