As the village woke to the sound of a rundown crow the sun started its slow journey across the sky. A fire started in the grimy blacksmith’s shop as a poor but honest man began his dawn to dust effort. He passed a dirt encrusted window and in the corner of his eye observed the familiar castle that loomed over the poor village and was surrounded by a ten metre stone wall. An old widow draped in a thread bear sack begged the blacksmith to fix her rusty hole-ridden cauldron. “I can’t pay you.” she said, but the blacksmith followed quickly by saying “Pay me when you can.” As she hobbled away the blacksmith sighed and thought to himself that the only reason the village could not pay for his services was because of the dreadful king’s exorbitant taxes.
by Jack (aged 10)