the little drummer boy vibed his own beat, unbothered whether others should follow: he walked alone, surrounded by souls who couldn’t live in silence. As he journeyed, traveling far, he drummed a thoughtful tune. Villagers turned, followed him on, dancing leagues upon leagues, unmeasured. The King, he was a callous man, used to being feasted. he waited too long for mead to be served, his court flowing where vibes would lead them. “I’ll have that boy’s head!” the King roared and stamped, unused to wants or needs; for many an age, he’d been served hand and foot, as his price of ruling the kingdom. So the King set forth on his mighty steed, armored and sword at the ready. But as he grew near the masses of souls, he found no one prepared to do battle. There in the forest, encircled by trees, the little drummer boy sat in silence. No word was spoken, the wind was hushed, as the boy raised his head, fearless. The King was livid, he’d come to fight, so he shook and he stomped and he bellowed: “This is Treason! Return to Court! You’ll not destroy My Kingdom!!!” The boy smiled, stood, now six feet tall, as the music inside had grown him. He held out an apple, saying, “a man needs to eat, join me in feast; there should be no sorrow.” The King was appalled to be spoken to so, as though he were a mere beggar. So he raised his fist, and with a mighty growl, he took aim at the boy, dead-center. The blow didn’t land as a strange thing occurred, all at once as though it were planned. The people who’d followed the drummer boy rose: they began singing and tapping. They tapped their hands, they tapped their feet, they tapped the trees of the forest. The rhythmic vibration upset the King, knocking him off balance. The Drummer Boy proffered a hand, as though to help the King rise. However, the King, a mighty proud man, smacked away the help, furious. The boy smiled, standing nine feet tall, as the music of others grew him. He held out the apple, as though undeterred, and said: “friend, i wish no enemy.” The King made to rise and as the boy smiled, the tapping began, now louder. The boy said, “here, have a heart and some laughter. You may join us, or go your own way, unbothered.” Again, the King angrily rose, again the King fell soberly, but the tapping was more than bothersome now; it wormed in his head, “!all that damned noise!!! this isn’t fair, this isn’t right!” he moaned, losing bravado. But the music had power, holding him down, his efforts were unproductive. The Drummer boy, smiling still, said, “Help I have now thrice offered. Go your way, we will not harm you, but know this before you continue: this music is formed from ancient power: rooted in soul, centered in moon, shielded in stars: your old life is forfeit. If you’ve no name yet, you must make one, and dare not take another’s. Choose wisely, friend, for whatever you choose, will follow as long as you claim it.” Baffled, the King thought them all mad; this wasn’t the way of the world as he knew it. Though, weary he was, head-hurt, ears splitting, he gave up the fight, fleeing. i imagine you wonder why he could go, after all that warring and anger. But we all know the story’s not over, it never ends, going on and on, just changing.