He searched for months to discover the lifeblood for his steadfast pen but no luck and it seemed his writing career was over because he just wasn’t happy without his precious pen. Then one day in a quaint village on Old Storm King he met an ancient woman, a matriarch of sorts and she said, “I’ve been dreaming about you and knew one day you would find me, so now, how can I help?”
“Well ma’am, my steadfast pen does not write,” and he handed her the scribbler.
The elder probed the instrument, “Ah... sable… black root from Old Storm King, now return in three days and your precious pen will write again… forever, but for a promise that you must keep!”
Three days later, he returned to Old Storm King Mountain and humbly asked, “What promise must I keep?”
She replied, “That you only write of cookies, cakes, pies and pastries and the colorful candied jewels and spices that pastry chefs attach.”
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