Twilight was fading now and Xanto didn’t know how long it had been since he first sat down to watch the sunset. Darkness was falling across the land and gloom had settled upon him.

He looked over at the novels he had written. He would not be king. He would not marry the princess. This was not his destiny. His dream grew cold and distant like the now very faintly glowing coals of the previous night’s campfire.

There was a peace about it though, much like the peace an artist feels after putting the last stroke of paint on a canvas. He now saw with clarity and perspective the complete story.

At least to this point.