It was the culmination of all his hard work. The zenith of his achievements. Anytime he sat, sharing stories with his children, and their children, he would recall this moment and, with grandiose movements and a captivating tone, told this tale of wonder. It wasn’t a regular tale. There wasn’t a discernible moral. No foxes were talking, no frogs were kissed. A pea wasn’t under a mattress, and no princess awaited the moment she would be freed from a hag’s curse. It was a story of personal triumph and intrigue.
His crumpled body didn’t seem the type to accomplish any conquering, but in it’s prime years it had been a masterful work of art.
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