![]() ![]() He thought of his sister, the Queen, also daughter of the Miller, albeit of a different mother. The stars glowed cold as stones, cold as the snowy caps of the peaks he climbed closer to each passing day. It comforted him all those dark, dark nights as he and the dog camped along the trail, wrapped in his cloak, fire dwindling to embers, wolves howling among the trees. That devotion guided him through thorn thickets and quicksand, over rockslides and across rivers. Just those meager possessions and his heart, which burned for the Queen. He carried a dagger, a water skin, a few coins in a dried-up purse, and a tiny crucifix around his neck. ![]() He chose to walk and was accompanied by a grizzled mastiff who’d served him faithfully through many a bleak hour. Such were the dangers of travel in most regions of the world in those days. ![]() The cart tracks and game trails he followed were tortuous, wending through darksome forests full of robbers and all manner of wild beasts. The Spy who was the son of the Miller embarked upon a perilous mission into the Western Mountains. The events that inspired the legend, not so much. That venerable fairytale of the Miller’s daughter and the Dwarf who helped her spin straw into gold has a happy ending in the popular version. ![]()
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