Giants of trees heaved forth from the black earth. Their great torsos twisted like the corpses of dancers, bark thick with olive moss, blocking the sunlight with their thick, black leaves. The empty black dirt was carpeted with moss-eaten stones, mottled holes and hives and nests, and the occasional broken animal bone. Dark, wiry shapes darted around peripherally, from the vicious Sturmhägen vole to the great Stürmhagen trolls and fire-breathing beavers, to the yet unknown beasts and titans rumored to live somewhere deeper in the darkness.
A refrigerator-shaped man covered in spiky armor and large weapons rode through the gloom. Occasionally he dismounted in order to utilize complex and sophisticated navigational methods. Indicating with a motion that he required silence to aid his concentration, he would bend to pick up a leaf or fistfull of dirt, examine a broken twig or a broken tree, place an ear to the ground and listen thoughtfully, or sometimes 'taste the air.' Once finished, he would confirm that they were indeed on the right track to find "Mega-braid," and should continue in the same direction as before. Conversation would resume.
"My turn," said Tassels. "Truth or dare, Gustav?"
"Truth."
"Have you ever fought a dragon?"
"Do you see that smoke over there, straight ahead?"
"I see it... Oj! That's a dragon, up ahead?"
"Maybe. Probably it's a Sturmhägen beaver—but there's no way to tell until we get there. Alright, my turn now, Prince AAUUGH-man hasn't been asked yet. What's your deal?"
Three figures rode on horseback through the woods.
"You may refer to me as Prince Charming," the third prince said. "Failing that you are the equal of pronouncing so many syllables, my ursine acquaintance, you may call me William."
The first was a scrawny stalk in a betassled shirt that hung over his shoulders in comfortable looseness, the second broad and plated in armor of dark unnecessary spikes, the third built like a sensible athlete and clothed in stylish and adventurous princely wear. The third was armed with an elaborate sword, yet sheathed, the second with an immense ax among much else, and the first with a butter knife. The first two were laughing, talking, and playing a Harmonian children's game called 'Truth or Dare'. The third strode adjacent with his head held nobly, in a manner that suggested he was their leader. This was a difficult trick, as he did not know where they were going and, though tall, was not as tall as the scarecrow or the refrigerator.
Prince Charming was the prince of Erinthia and his exploits began with winning the hand of Briar Rose. This had been most impressive, because the pudgy hand was heir to phenomenal fortune and the kingdom of Avondell. The story was an excellent one, immortalized by Tyrese the tuneful in a popular ballad. Here was the story:
The hand of baby Briar Rose was promised to whichsoever prince "proved himself worthiest". Thousands of "princes" from throughout the land materialized around the Avondellian palace. If most of them weren't heir to any kingdom and therefore had no hope of winning the pudgy hand, well, one had to let the peasants entertain themselves somehow. Competition was fierce, ranging from toddling fencing experts, infants of assured operatic careers, Harmonian masters of princely composure, assorted masters of yodeling, Sturmhägen infant wrestling champions, a Sylvarian baby whose parents claimed he could "speak dolphin," and every other conceivable manner of auspicious youth. When Prince Charming appeared before the throne, nine years old, if he had no obviously distinguishing features, as prince of Erinthia he was heir to wealth on the same order of magnitude as Princess Rose, and therefore the most propitious candidate. Suddenly, two masked men shattered through the stained glass window behind the throne, dispatched the guards in the blink of an eye, and made straight for the baby! Prince Charming wasted no time. He leapt into action, subdued the kidnappers, and was promptly awarded the baby's pudgy hand. The kidnappers and failed guards spent the rest of their lives in prison. Prince Charming was the most adored youth in Erinthia. And if Prince Charming himself remembered nothing of these events, after hearing Tyrese's version so many times, he came to believe it with as much fervor as could have been wished.
The extraordinary prince lived up to all his early potential. Prince Charming spent excesses of time slaying those vicious and horrible beasts which preyed on his helpless subjects, reveling in their admiration as he paraded about the streets. Love for him spread to the other kingdoms with the fame resulting from The Ballad of Sleeping Beauty, when Briar Rose was cursed on her twelfth birthdays by an errant fairy, putting the entire, wealthy kingdom of Avondell to sleep. No task too great, Prince Charming skillfully located the fairy. In a display of royal mercy and honor, once he had forced her to reveal the details of how to undo her terrible curse, he let her free, upon which she transformed into a dragon, upon which he and his army made short work of her. He then strode into the Avondellian palace and, a quick peck on the perfumed cheek later: good as new. As the marriage grew near, convention demanded Prince Charming visit his bride in her flower garden.
"Greetings, Briar Rose; it is an appropriately grand pleasure to meet you again. I am Prince William, called by those who know me Liam (this is of course terribly forward, but perhaps not inappropriate given future plans), more frequently known as Charming, and your prospective groom—though I suppose you had gathered this already," he introduced himself, adding a slight chuckle at the end, smiling winningly. The princess had led a profoundly sheltered life he considered, preemptively; first in the woods with naught but three nannies for company, and then shut up inside her castle.
"So it is you who is given me?" The sentence came out pristinely in a single breath from tight lips that seemed shut, once finished, in the model of an able scallop. "Very well. I suppose you will make a fine toy until I get bored and let you shatter." Briar Rose wore a pink dress. Her features were painted, her makeup tasteful, her beautiful hair adding an extra half meter to her height so that she loomed somewhat over Prince Charming despite her eyes not reaching his nose as they sat next to each other, rather closer than Liam was comfortable with in fact. She sat tapping her miniscule feet in the arbor of a garden of surpassing loveliness, the garden tastefully and painstakingly arranged and befitted with all the rarest and most beautiful growths her exceedingly wealthy kingdom could afford. Her pretty little eyes were bored and piercing. Liam felt a drop of sweat being absorbed by his wear, though outwardly he was certain he appeared unfazed.
"I suspect," said Prince Charming, "That I somewhat misheard what it was you just said. Or else misunderstood. In any case, I must make plain that I entirely fail to take you meaning."
"Then I will be frank," she said. "It's been a while since Avondell has had a war of any quality, and your kingdom is the likeliest prize. War with Erinthia is quite inevitable and you will make a suitable hostage. Doubtless that is why they are giving you to me. But perhaps we may have a little war with Stürmhagen first. I will send you on campaign into their woods."
"And if I decline to comply?" Prince Charming asked in confusion and horror and outrage.
"You are going to marry me, Prince Charming. You will do whatever I say. You don't have a choice in the matter."
"And why is that?"
"Because I wish you to marry me; therefore you shall." She plucked the petals from a flower smoothly as she spoke, and when she was finished, wrapped the stem around her finger and tugged off the head with a silent pop.
"I find this display most unbecoming!" he declared. "You may possess influence, but do not forget, so do I! Your entire kingdom owes their wakefulness to me, a debt I suspect they shall not forget swiftly."
"Wanna bet?"
"Should it come to that!" Prince Charming exclaimed, standing. "Briar Rose, I take my leave of you."
"I grant you permission to return, Prince Charming, when you are prepared to marry me. The faster you do, the less painful it will be."
"I shall never marry you!" Prince Charming announced. "I believe that it shall be of profound mutual service to enjoy the direct future entirely absent each other's company!"
"I'm sure it will be."
"I shall never cease to express amazement at the speed the bards' ballads can travel," Prince Charming told the scarcrow and refrigerator. "It was most convenient, of course, when upon returning from one of my greater exploits my subjects were already singing, and I mean this of course quite literally, the praises of my act. The truth moves at a supernatural speed, collective consciousness or some such, and the truth is precisely what people have decided it is. I have digressed, as I imagine you see, to describe my most recent such experience. On this particular occasion, of course, I found it most inconvenient that the ballad Briar Rose commissioned Reynaldo, Duke or Rhyme to compose greeted me upon my return, such that I discovered what had apparently transpired quite after my subjects had. The particulars of the following are most dull, I feel no need to relay them at this point them being entirely fictitious to boot–"
"Listen, dear hearts, to this tale I will tell," Gustav interrupted pleasantly, "Of this unpleasant guy of an unholy smell!" Gustav's baritone was surprisingly assured as he belted out the ballad into the forest grinning broadly, and only slightly out of tune.
"O this scurrilous chap, him of exploits so lewd / that they will surely lead you to puke out your food!" Tassels returned confidently, grinning back. The tune was ineffably catchy; Prince Charming felt he should credit where it was due. He forced a painful little smile as his two companions tossed lyrics back and forth, his posture sinking a bit with every line.
"One day 'ppeared the prince to Briar Rose meet once more / he hollered and threat'ned till she flung wide her door" howled Gustav gravely into the night. Prince Charming had made up his mind not to ask how the two knew the lyrics in the middle of the forest; better not to ask questions you didn't want to know the answers to.
Such things did he do, oh, that terrible day / we preemptively warn of vicarious dismay"" Tassels warbled back.
"None of it true of course, not in the least," mumbled Prince Charming to himself.
"He flung 'pon her, 'ttacking, horrid pickles sour / and ripped all the petals from her favorite flower!" bellowed Gustav melodically.
Prince Charming was whistling quietly under his breath, and looked over to find his companions were grinning at him. He stopped. "Mustaches he painted 'pon her glorious visage / her portraits thus disfigured beyond recognition!"
Then, in an act 'twas dastardly and dire / he proceeded to go light her whole hair on fire!"
"In an act of war, next, and it showed why her merited / the act of his father whom subsequently him disinherited,"
"He stormed into the palace, ripe cheesecake in hand / and smeared it upon Queen—
The ballad went on and on. Prince Charming wasn't sure if these verses were original at this point or if they were now making them up on the spot. Difficult to tell towards the end of the ballad, and they had been going on now for a long time indeed.
"I see you are familiar with the Princess's fabrication, then. Well, to finish my account, I made the decision to pack up and seek peaceful retreat until the lot had simmered down. It was at around this point that I met you fine gentlemen, I believe."
"It was around this point that I rescued you from your peaceful retreat on a troll, Mr. AAUUGHman," Gustav observed.
"Oj!" Tassels exclaimed, sounding a little insulted. "I helped, too."
"I had the beast practically vanquished when you two elected to interfere, as it so happens."
Ballad of the Troll:
Routed from his kingdom by swarms of frothing subjects upon his arrival, Prince Charming had heroically fled to Sturmhägen. Not carrying much coin on hand and unable to run up a tab as that would have required revealing his identity (an exercise he quickly discovered failed to reward), he had been hard pressed to find suitable accommodations. Though worldly and gallant, he was unused to these conditions and decided to work his way through the woods as swiftly as possible.
Prince Charming never got lost. Sometimes though, he took the scenic route.
One day, he elected to diverge from the path (which had begun to peter out) in a 'shortcut' that quickly led him to a hopelessly scenic route. That night, worn beyond what princes should bear and unable to continue in the near-total blackness, he settled upon an especially soft-looking, albeit ugly, collection of spinachy greens. Shaking him off, the lumpy form rose up to a height of eight feet.
"AAUUGH!" screamed Prince Charming, briefly startled, before instantly recovering his wits. The thing was a collection of mottled greens, mixing fur, flesh, and leaves, was stumpily shaped, with legs making up only a small portion of its height, fat arms ending in a few little fingers. Its head rolled back in a smooth helmet shape, leafy horns and bovine ears, dark, orblike eyes set into its face. Prince Charming drew his sword and brandished it in a heroic pose. The troll knocked it out of his hand with a swinging paw.
"Why AAUUGH-man sit on Troll?" the troll inquired in its throaty voice, lurching towards him.
"Perish!" commanded the prince, diving for his sword blindly in the dark. The troll grabbed him off the ground. Two new figures suddenly entered the proceedings, illuminating the clearing with a lantern.
"Quick! Before it eats him!" shrieked Tassels.
"Trolls are vegetarian," submitted Gustav, but nevertheless, he barreled towards the troll, ax at the ready. "STUUURRRRMMHHAAAAAAAAGEEENN!" he roared with gusto. The troll dropped Prince Charming and swiveled to face its new challenger.
Why we need bards to tell us what happened:
"That's when it knocked you aside too, and I reasoned with Mr. Troll, and we all went away as friends," narrated Tassels. "He issued a standing invitation for Princes Excuse Me, STUUURRRRMMHHAAAAAAAAGEEENN, and AAUUGH to visit him, which I fully intend to take him up on if I'm ever in the area again."
"What?" protested Gustav. "I smashed the troll into troll-flavored mayonnaise!"
"Nonsense. It was I who recovered my sword and neatly decapitated the creature, who had by this point seized and incapacitated the larger of the two interlopers," Prince Charming corrected. "While my suricatic acquaintance aided me by continuing to light the clearing. I think it is fair to say that it is, at this point, my turn. Gustav. Tell me of the witch, so I may most readily dispatch her should I make her acquaintance in this protracted effort to assist you fellow princes.
"The witch?" Gustav paused. "She's an old lady." He paused again, and shifted one of his armor plates with a calloused paw contemplatively. "That's all you need to know."
Ballad of Zaubera:
Zaubera dabbled in magic, as her family always had, but without prowess or ambition. She took over the family farm in middle age, after the rest of her family disappeared in a pioneering attempt to establish trade-routes in Sturmhägen. Her turnips were the sweetest and most plentiful in the region, and better still, she had no qualms about donating portions of her crop to neighbors in order to help them meet their quotas without turning to the expensive black market. She was generally beloved, and frequently named godmother of various children in honor or an attempt to curry additional turnip-bestowing favor. Zaubera had always been a relatively private person, but enjoyed frequent visits from her godchildren. She entertained young guests with turnip paste and crackers and cantrips.
One day, a successful knight named Sir Rosenstråle brought one of Sturmhägen's notorious fire-breathing beavers that he had captured to display before the peasants, Pennyfeather the Mellifluous tailing him and occasionally plucking the feather from his cap to scribble a note for the ballad. The beaver escaped and rained fiery terror across the region, laying waste to land and storehouses. Zaubera used her magic to protect the farm that had brought her such fortune, when a collection of godchildren approached. A collection of flaming debris sailed through the air toward the children. Zaubera redirected her magic to protect them. The fire spread to her farm and ate it.
Ballad of Sir Rosenstråle Slaying a Beaver and a Witch:
The locals soon discovered it was Zaubera who released the beaver and aided it in its quest of destruction, apprehended ultimately only by the mighty Sir Rosenstråle, after he had slain the beaver once and for all. At first Zaubera was slow to catch on, never having had a mind for ballads. "What?" she said. "Me?" And then she was resigned, too shocked and weak to interfere. Her stomach felt as though it had burned to ashes along with her farm, and the insults hurled by her godchildren burned anything that might have remained. She let them drag her into the square, numb. Rocks in the pathway broke her skin. Cow patties in the wake of the fire still smoked. A stone hit her face. A stone hit her back. Everyone was throwing them. Her godchildren were throwing them. And the people cheered.
But some basic instinct finally took over during the stoning, and she vanished from Harmonia, never to return.
Ballad of Cinderella:
Taking up residence in an abandoned tower in Sturmhägen she happened upon by chance, Zaubera, used her magic to grow vegetables in the forest's usually unusable soil. Alone all the year save for a biannual visit to the market to peddle her greens, she brooded, and began to take an interest in the darker arts. One day, she received her first visitor: One of her goddaughters.
"How did you find me?" Zaubera grunted.
"It wasn't hard. You are my godmother, right?"
"Yep." Zaubera grunted again. She didn't talk much anymore. She had missed getting visitors.
"Do I get a wish?"
"Excuse me?" said Zaubera.
"You're my fucking fairy godmother, do I get a wish or not?"
"Language!" snapped Zaubera." I'm not a fairy either," she snapped as an afterthought, "I'm a witch."
"Why are you yelling?"
"I'm not yelling," she yelled, "I'm deaf. Give you a wish just because you're my goddaughter? You and half of Harmonia! If I gave out wishes willy nilly, Harmonia would be so full of turnips and chocolate chip cookies and pet armadillos there would be an economic collapse!" Children had no idea how magic worked.
"Not anymore, Granny."
"Hmm?"
"When you left, all the others renounced, for fear that having a witch as their child's godmother would bring bad luck upon their turnips. The quotas increased again."
"More border trouble?"
"Yep."
"Why didn't your parents renounce?"
"My parents are dead. My stepmother doesn't know; I didn't tell her."
"You're the only one?"
"Yep."
"I see." Zaubera grabbed some crackers and turnip paste off a shelf and set them on her rickety little table. "What's your wish?"
"Three wishes, Granny."
"Three? Just what do you take me for! A fool?" Zaubera spluttered. "Fine. Let's have them."
"I want birds to peck out the eyes and feet of my asshole sisters, Arna and Brita."
"Done!" said Zaubera. "Bring me a lock from each of their hair." In the time it took the child to get all the way home and back again with her hair she would be over whatever incident had irked her, if Zaubera knew her godchildren.
"I want a prince to fall in love with me and pursue me."
"Done!" said Zaubera. Cerebral manipulation was dark magic indeed. "I need the design of his family seal and whether he sleeps with the blanket over or under his beard. Also I need, let's see, the fibula of his first pet."
Ballad of Rapunzel:
The next development came when Zaubera caught a famished thug pillaging her expensive greens. She asked for his firstborn child in exchange for the greens if he really felt the need to keep them, which, to her surprise, he accepted. At first she wasn't sure just what to do with someone else's child living there full time, especially when the child hated her — something altogether new to Zaubera — but eventually she realized that this was precisely the sort of activity that bards sang about, and what she wouldn't do to get her hands on Pennyfeather! She would be doing society a favor. And yet years passed before a prince came calling. He went down without a fight, and worse, he hadn't even brought a bard to spread word. Disgusted, the witch released Rapunzel, and decided to take matters into her own hands.
Ballad of the Princes Charming:
"In any case," declared Gustav, "we've arrived." They had been walking on one of those fragments of kept path for a while now, and as Gustav predicted, it led into a large clearing. The sun shone down from the heavens brighter than they had seen in weeks, and the leaves behind their shoulders seemed unnaturally light in this rare illumination. Gustav frowned. "It didn't used to look like this."
All plant life withered into ash in the great clearing that yawned out of the woods, with the exception of a perfectly kept garden off to the side. A great stone monolith of a tower stood in the center, overlooking the desolation. A sleeping dragon's snout poking around from the far side, emitting wisps of smoke. Sturmhägen's dragons were about the diameter of a small cow, proportioned like a winged iguana save their overlarge heads, adorned with shining spears, scales dark in color. They were unique among Sturmhägen's beasts in their willingness not to attack without provocation, and also in their possession of a distinct language.
"Wait, I'm confused," Tassels told Gustav. "Isn't this the one place Rapunzel is guaranteed not to be?" Gustav threw up his hands.
"You told me to bring you to Rapunzel, this is the best I could do. You should be thanking me that you haven't been eaten by a porcupine."
"Huh?" Tassels protested, but then stopped, and stared at something far away. The small, but clearly recognizable head of Pennyfeather was poking out of the tower's window. The head popped back in for a moment, and emerged with another head: that of Ella. Her eyes widened in confusion as she saw her ex, about a thousand times dirtier than she thought possible, with two other nincompoops at his side, standing there before her. She gave them a little wave.
Going to rescue the bards. Sure. As Ella headed into Sturmhägen, she slowly realized she had no idea what she wanted. The bards could go and stay wherever the fuck they had gotten off to for all the shits she gave; probably one of the meetings where they voted on how many goddamn feathers to stick in their caps. Sturmhägen was also a real shithole, she hadn't remembered that from her visits here when she was twelve. Not that there was much to go back to in Sylvaria; turnips noon and night, rationing and quotas, what, her fucking family? God no. She could go to Avondell, or frankly any of the kingdoms, but what the fuck would she be doing there either? She stopped the horse for a moment to concentrate on her thoughts. Ever since fires set by the rebel forces had taken her father along with the first plantation, life had been made of short and manageable goals. Her stepmother's influence no doubt, as short and manageable goals had worked well enough for her: find a replacement husband to care for her girls, find replacement land when the current batch burned down, find money for food when the quotas piled high, keep her stepdaughters active when their eyes and feet were mutilated, etc. Ella's goals had been more grandiose: find, prince, find way to get the fuck out of here, get extremely rich, etc, but now she had achieved those goals and had run out of new ones. I'm gonna find those fucking bards, she realized.
"Have any of you seen Lyrical Leif?" She was asking some family of peasants for about the fiftieth time. There were a couple shrugs and grunts. Of course they didn't, why would anyone know the location of the bard whose moronic tunes they were singing like a pack of fucking idiots. "You know, the dumb fuck who writes all the music around here? Dumb and repetitive meter and lyrics, like 'Hearts, I shall tell you of dull circumspirings / 'Improbable seeming, involving perspiri–'" Suddenly, from behind her, somebody grabbed Ella and stuffed her in a sack. Great, what the fuck next, Ella mused to herself as she lost consciousness to the herbal odor within.
Witches had given themselves a weak reputation. Bake a couple of kids? Anyone can do that. Light your head on fire and turn visiting children into blocks of firewood? Pointless and wasteful. The more you thought of, the worse it got: what kind of an idiot makes their claim to fame whizzing around with their tuchus jammed in a mortar and pestle? Zaubera's scheme put the historical examples to shame. Zaubera's sack was almost full as she made her way back to the tower. She had thought it had been full, but then she heard another bard singing nearby, some new song she hadn't heard before. This one couldn't sing a note, but that didn't distinguish the creature from the rest of the competition. She could have sworn Lyrical Leif was Sturmhägen's only bard, but these proteges and wannabes were popping up all the time — no peasant had the wits to invent original lyrics, that was how you told the difference. Grabbing the bard from behind, Zaubera stuffed her in the sack.
"What the fuck?" Ella exclaimed when Zaubera pulled her out of the sack, back in the tower.
"The devil?" puzzled Zaubera. "What were you doing in that sack?" She grabbed the sack, emptied it upside down, and pushed the bards that tumbled out into a cage she had carried into her tower for the purpose.
"What the fuck!" repeated Ella. "Granny? What the flaming fuck do you think you're doing?"
"Fudge," corrected Zaubera. "Flaming fudge, and as far as the rest, that's for me to know and for you to find out. I wouldn't have taken you for one to take up the profession, dearie, but far be it from me to–"
"I've taken up no profession whatsoever!" Ella interrupted, indignant.
"No?" mused Zaubera. "Splendid! You can keep your tongue and fingers, then."
"What? You bet your fucking ass I'm keeping my tongue and fingers, Granny." Ella had changed her mind about rescuing the bards. "I'm getting the fuck out of here."
"Oh, no." Zaubera crooned, blocking her path. "We couldn't have that, not just yet." Zaubera couldn't have anyone coming to the tower and messing around before she was ready, before she had finished. What difference did it make if a few omelets broke in the process?
Both of the heads suddenly popped back into the tower. For a moment, all was quiet. Then, the witch stuck her head out. Her gaze hardened immediately upon the princes. She darted back in.
"She's probably coming down here." observed Gustav.
"I thought the tower didn't have a door," whispered Tassels. Gustav indicated a door at the bottom, in response.
"The bards made that part up. When I first came here it wasn't being used because the way down was too cluttered. Without Rapunzel, how else do you think the old lady can get in and out? Magic?"
"Well, –"
"I propose," announced Prince Charming, "that we formulate a plan of attack. A bold and clever stratagem that shall leave our opponents dazed and wobbly in the dust of defeat! We must rescue the damsel, smite the witch, and slay the dragon. My skills lend themselves most towards witch-battling, I believe. I have previously bested a far more auspicious opponent—you two may have heard something about it—in a more minor episode of my heroism wherein I rescued the whole of Avondell. Gustav, I suggest that you take it upon yourself to engage the dragon. I suspect that your rugged knowledge of the local fauna may give you an advantage over myself in this field. Tassels. Lacking our princely physiques and talents, you shall rescue the damsel. She is, after all, your fiancée."
"What?" protested Gustav. "Tassels should be in charge of the dragon. He's practically an expert with them."
"What's this?" asked Prince Charming, turning to Tassels.
"Well, no," Tassels explained. "I just speak Sentarin."
"Aha! Practically an expert, then. Very well. Gustav, you and I shall advance upon the witch. You distract her, then I shall nobly smite her."
"You distract, I smite." corrected Gustav. Prince Charming pretended not to hear him.
"To repeat," said Prince Charming. "Gustav and I shall make our way over to the door and smite the witch directly when she emerges. Tassels shall simultaneously charm the dragon, mount its back, command it to fly up to the window, and rescue the Damsel."
"And Pennyfeather," said Tassels.
"I'm quite sure that Pennyfeather is happily suited to his present arrangements."
"I'm not so sure that I like this plan. The last time Gustav came into contact with the witch, she nearly killed him," Tassels pointed out.
"This time, I shall be present." Prince Charming submitted.
"but the troll..." Tassels trailed off, murmuring to himself more than anyone else.
Zaubera burst from the door of the tower, cackling and slapping her fingers together. She was a little old lady wearing a dark cloak, the hood thrown back to allow her sparse hair to roam freely in the wind. She had erratic and piercing eyes. She strode towards the princes.
"Well, there went the element of surprise." Prince Charming said, unsheathing his sword. Quite an antique, this one, though sturdy enough. Expensive gems ran around the hilt, shimmering in the light.
Gustav charged. "STUUURRRRMMHHAAAAAAAAGEEENN!" he bellowed.
Prince Liam followed suit, apparently unable to decide between a gallant jog and a more elegant, though tiring, flèche. "En Garde!" he declared, puffing a little.
Tassels sighed, and began jogging around the perimeter, heading for the dragon. He really hoped William knew what he was doing, despite evidence to the contrary. "For Ella," he murmured.
Reviews are much appreciated, particularly if critical/constructive. Let me know if it's at all comprehensible, if it's even a little bit enjoyable?