Once Upon A Time, in a wonderfully wintery village, lived a little boy with his mother. These two were poor, eating only bread and soup on their hardest working days. Every day was a long day, sweat dripping down their backs and temples. And in the evening they would rest, praying for a warm fire to nestle up by. Night after night, they nibbled on their bread and did chores for their neighbors to earn a few extra dollars.

There was a night in this wintery village, where this young boy woke at midnight. The candles had all gone out, and a cool breeze ran through their house, soaking up all of the heat they had acquired for their rest. This little boy shook gently on his mother's shoulders, searching for a response in her soft, aging face. Nothing came of it.

Curious as he was, he decided to venture outside. A storm was catching up with them, and their blankets would not do justice for them at this point. Darkened clouds greeted him in near silence. A light scent of dust clung to the air. Trees shook in their vigorous strength. And still, the boy was not frightened.

The cold air left him in tremors, absolutely frozen in his skin. Frost formed on his reddened nose. He looked up, all around him, just exploring with his deep blue eyes. He had seen the ocean. He had seen the fair. He had even been lucky enough to ride an elephant. But he had never seen something as this. (Read on . . .)

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