Armed with this new knowledge, I vowed to find the perfect loom for my needs. I set out to look on the World Wide Web--a vast, expansive place, full of memes, videos of kittens, and highly addictive flash games--and went to the One Who Answers All: Google.com. In the far away land where I lived part of the year, my dear Kromski Minstrel lay waiting, patiently, for its' Persephone's return. Google.com noticed the longing in my eyes to return to my wheel, and promptly returned results about Kromski looms.
"There it is!" I cried. The light shone and a beautiful harp lay before me, bedecked with yarn and heddles. It's size was just right. I could ask for nothing more. Alas, the Mouse Messenger read from his scroll that this loom was adequately priced at $350. My heart sank, as I knew that would cost more gold than I was worth. I sent Mouse Messenger around the Interwebs to find a more affordable price, but he came to me utterly defeated.
I wept on my return journey to the Far East. Hours passed like months, until I eventually arrived in our new palace. It was old, slightly decayed from disuse, but sturdy. I poured myself into my work on the palace, producing beautiful fibers, and spinning with Minstrel. I worked furiously to forget my desire to have a harp, and even sobbed to poor old Babe about it.
But every fairytale has a happy ending. A wonderful woman in Japan offered a list of second-hand looms, and one of the happened to be a harp I had been wanting. Without hesitation I paid up my gold and sent the harp over choppy ocean waves to arrive at my door. She has not presented her name to me yet, but her weavings are gorgeous in their simplicity.
It did not take long to begin work on my harp, for I needed to learn the ins and outs of its capabilities.
And here is the result of my first attempt at weaving. I have more to learn, and I plan to use my own spun yarns some day.
Beautiful :)
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