"Suddenly, he sees the guests of honor, the villainous monkeys he bested in the past, dressed in regal facades. Their cunning fangs and deceiving lips spin empty tales of miracles and false promises. He throws back his cloak with a wrinkled hand, and righteous anger flows. Stepping through the mud and into the courtyard, he breaks off a branch, becoming the youth he once was."

"Home he goes, hair now white, with his feats told in every corner. Hoping for peace and quiet, he hides his blade, and meanders to the feast with the wandering crowd."

"South he went, elderly now, where swarms of locusts invade the fields. A guardian, he cleaves through with a single slash, giving hope of survival until the thaw."

"North he went, aging now, facing a dire wolf devouring the lands. With orange leaves grasping bloodied fangs, a perfect new blade he now has."

"West he went, now mature, where the croaks of frogs occupy the walls. A single strike sends astonishment through the crowds, for what they once knew was merely the stars they could see from the bottom of a well."

"East he went, in his youth, encountering evil monkeys on the barren roads. A spring branch from a tree to serve as his blade, driving away the beasts that plagued the people."