The breeze ruffles the grass on the plain,
The sun’s rays reflect off the flowing stream,
Horse and rider approach swiftly.
They pass on toward the city gate,
Past the barrows of ancient kings,
Nearing the Golden Hall.
The townspeople are as silent as stone
They shoot unfriendly stares at strangers
No welcome is evident here.
A beautiful woman gazes down from the hill,
Pale and cold, as spring on the steps
Her golden hair flutters in the wind.
The rule of her uncle is failing-
A pernicious wizard enslaves his mind
He will not defend his country from foes.
The lady dwells in desolate solitude
Engulfed by darkness in her bower
She faintly hopes to experience light again.
She spots four figures in the distance:
One on a white steed, bearing a white staff;
Two figures disparate in size,
A tall, weather-beaten man wearing a long sword.
Could they possibly offer hope?
Help is oft unlooked for, redemption
Found in the most unseemly places.
The travelers’ appearances are not appealing,
Haggard green cloaks stained with wear.
Yet such disguises conceal hidden royalty:
A wisdom-imparting wizard, courageous dwarf,
Angelic elf, majestic king.
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