Life is a gift and one ought to be grateful for what one has. Dreams are a spice of life whether they are one´s goal or not. Despite where one comes from so can someone walk a path of righteousness and kindness.
Even one walking on tired feet can gracefully do so with a purpose to a new tomorrow. Despite not seeing what coming shall so can someone clearly in one's mind see a better self in one's future than what the mirror reflects today.
One that can see beyond oneself, and live for others, can be said to have… A noble heart
Prologue (2015-09-01)
Every tale has a beginning. It has had events that fate has let happen, which would lead forth to the beginning.
Our tale is no different. A man was late at night on his way home. While he was riding so was he caught in a lightning storm. Both rain and hail were falling down with such intensity it felt like needles wherever it hit unprotected skin.
As he hurried on, trying to escape the storm, the sound of thunder could be heard all around him. So far so had he only seen the light of lightning in the distance. But it drew ever nearer and would soon be over him. He wasn’t far from an old stone bridge.
Then three smaller lightning flashes could be seen in the clouds above, before a fourth large one struck down in a nearby tree. He struggled to stay on the horse and did his best to calm him dowm. The storm was just by the slightest bit calming down.
When he had calmed his horse so did he hear the strangest thing. Behind the sound of the ever-falling rain so could he hear the gentle sound of music.
He had arrived at the stone bridge. He got off his horse and tied it to a small tree at the side of the road. Down at the riverbank had a basket been washed ashore and from it the musical tune could be heard.
He slowly went down the slope to the riverbank as not to slip. It was a gentle tune, strange to hear during the raging storm.
Reaching the shoreline of the river, at the bottom of the slope, he carefully and filled with purpose gazed around searching, all the while taking note of were from the notes of the tune resounded.
It did not take long before he located the object of his interest. Washed up and caught by the roots of a tree on the riverside, a lidded basket, from which the notes gently resounded.
Getting close could he make out that the basket had a simple yet elegant woven design before he took of its lid.
In the basket lay a small rodantchild, who couldn’t even be a year old, asleep peacefully despite the storm. The gentle and soothing tune came from a locket that lay open beside the child. In the lid of the locket was the inscription:
