The quiet kid

Previously

…The storyteller had arrived like a gust of wind, carrying seeds of wonder. Elara, the quiet boy, had been a dry patch of earth, waiting. And with a single, brave word, he had allowed those seeds to take root, to sprout, and to blossom into a garden of friendship, a garden that was only just beginning to bloom. He still felt a tremor of shyness, a whisper of the old fear, but it was drowned out by the much louder, much more beautiful sound of his own voice, finally finding its song, and finding its echo in the hearts of others. The floodgates had opened, and the world, once a silent film, was now a vibrant, noisy, wonderful symphony.