Now I don't like the other new start, so I've had an idea: I'll start the same story idea over and over (and over?) until I hit one that intrigues me! Or not. It'll be an exercise in variation. Like Bach. Or not.
Three men rode into town on elegant horses, the fire of the setting sun ablaze behind them. To Cara, they looked like one of the shadow cut-outs the traveling jester created to tell his stories when he came through in the dead of winter, heading to the capitol, hoping to impress a royal into hiring him. The young man was impressive enough on the young folk of this small town, and Cara had even begun learning to juggle because of him, much to the detriment of the potatoes in her grandmother's larder. By this time, Cara had managed to keep three aloft for as many as five passes, which so amazed her she dropped the abused tubers with a cheer that caused her grandmother to ban her from the stores.
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