The Story It’s just part of a story, actually quite a lot of stories, the part where the third son or the stepdaughter sent on the impossible errand through the uncanny forest comes across a fox with its paw caught in a trap or little sparrows fallen from the nest or some ants in trouble in a puddle of water. He frees the fox, she puts the fledglings in the nest, they get the ants safe to their ant-hill. The little fox will come back later and lead him to the castle where the princess is imprisoned, the sparrow will fly before her to where the golden egg is hidden, the ants will sort out every poppyseed for them from the heap of sand before the fatal morning, and I don’t think I can add much to this story. All my life it’s been telling me if I’ll only listen who the hero is and how to live happily ever after. Arion Arion, my dark-crowned guide through the long dream, your name I knew when I was waking in the dark today before dawn. Through dark seas the dolphins glide. Dreams are and are not what they seem.
