A Mynah for the King

“Halt,” said the guard. The young man halted. The guard looked at him carefully in the diffused light of dawn. The young man had unkempt hair, wore a cheap but white and clean dress, and would have been quite handsome if his cheeks could be fleshed out a little bit. He had a haunted, intense look about him and his eyes were red-rimmed as if from lack of sleep.
“What do you want?” the guard asked.
“An audience with the king.”
“Why?”
“To give him these,” he waved the papers in his hand.
“And what are those?”
“Stories.”