The thing about old storytellers is that magic is not part of their story. Magic is what happens behind it. How else could one begin to describe the way they entrance us or transport us to forgotten, faraway lands. The old storytellers were masters of their art. They were lively yet humble, humorous but wise, above all they were shepherds to and equals among their audience.
They were the ones who would tell you about ships that could fly and impossible feats of strength; of thrilling adventure, fearsome creatures and especially Paul Bunyan— of course, you have all heard of Paul.
Paul was the greatest lumberjack who ever lived. Stories tell of a brawling, fearsome giant. Tougher than nails. Eight feet tall he stood with a stride of eight feet. Celebrated everywhere was he for his great labors and matchless crew.
This— this is one those stories.
It is an account of faraway lands, of fearsome beasts, of ships that can fly, it is a tale of that old type of storyteller and the time of Paul Bunyan.