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Once upon a time a tall tall maiden with flaxen locks all the way down her long long back, she lived in a kingdom of sparse trees, rolling rolling hills. A tree here, a tree there but space oh space between and nobody but sheep here and there. Oh, the good sunsets. Once she was of course riding her horse. And this one long day almost home from flaxen locks blowing behind her: lo, ragged boy asleep under a bush. Our maiden dismounts quick and wakes the boy with a toe.

Turns out of course he is seeking the long-forgotten golden dragon egg potion in these good hills. Off they go. One, two, one, two. The ice storm, the nine bandits, all the usual. Courage. Both transformed ever so. She listened good atop crumbling cliff: how he likes boys and all. He breathed good in the vapor cave she’s shown no one else. So.

At long last, the golden dragon-egg potion is delivered to the boy’s ailing mother on the distant shore. The mother squints at the tall maiden. Have I died? This white robed figure the cascading curls the smell of a grand horse. They touch the mother’s hot head, girl and boy both. She closes her big eyes.

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