Dorjelang/Story: Difference between revisions

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|s1_title = Dream-Collecting Journey in the Mountains

|s1_reward = 100

|s1_text =

|s1_text =This was Dorjelang's fifth year as a hat-making apprentive.

On this day, he was inspecting two hat flowers by the window, carefully considering which would better compliment his spring-welcoming hat.

Suddenly, he heard a cry for help from his senior in the courtyard. The dried materials were in dissaray, scattered and blown about by a harsh wind. Amidst thundering steps, Dorjelang rushed back and forth with his colossal form that threatened to blot out the sky, collecting all the pieces in his arms at a moment's notice. His senior, who just so happened to pass by with stacks of new fabric, called on him for help as well. The cook then appeared with two buckets of sweet soup and handed them to him with a smile, asking if he could drop them off at the canteen on the way.

Dorjelang nodded solemnly at all these requests, but his eyes shone with confidence from being trusted with important duties.

Meanwhile, up on the rooftop, Master Sparrok munched on roasted cocoons and clicked her tongue in annoyance as she watched the big fellow busy about the yard. Soon, she finished off her last skewer in one swoop.

A skewer was cast, and it struck and bounced off Dorjelang's back. He paused, scratched that spot in confusion, then turned and looked up.

On the rooftop, Dorjelang sat obediently by the grill with his feet and hands tucked inward. On the other side, Master Sparrok stood with folded arms, looking down at her student.

"How long have you been my student?" she asked, but before he could answer, she pointed to his nose and continued, "Five years! It's about time for you to graduate!"

Dorjelang dat quietly with a serious face, lost in thought. The awkward silence grew between them as it always did, until Master Sparrok finally hopped off the parapet in frustration. Suddenly, she was a full five heads shorter than him, but her chirping and scolding lent her such a domineering presence. She recounted and lectured him on his acctions from the six wall-breaching incidents across five years to the all-too-tidy yarn pile last night.

"You're a hatmaker! Stop letting trivial matters occupy your time and go think about why we make hats!" she said.

Dorjelang sheepishly scratched his head and nodded, which irritated his master so much that her white feather scarf went askew.

Dorjelang used to be someone weak who needed protection and sheltering from others, but everyone in the workshophad seen him accidentally breaking table legs, crushing teacups, and cracking plates...

Therefore, they thought the gentle giant must have been too humble about his strength.

For Dorjelang, he counted his luck among the stars to be able to help the weak with what strength he possesed. It wasn't about meeting anyone's expectations, it was about having the ability to say, "I want to, therefore I can."

But Master Sparrok watched Dorjelang as he left and remembered how her bright-eyed student dug her out of a pile of magazines in the basement five years ago... No, scratch that part.

She was standing atop the magazine pile with arms crossed, quizzing him about hats as he answered everything perfectly.

Learning on his own in secret? How dare he?! She was so angry that she hopped off the pile and twisted her ankle... No... Scratch that part too.

She was by the magazine pile and saw how Dorjelang recreated every hat on the pages with reeds. The audacity to learn in secret... She turned away with a scowl.

Even so, Dorjelang had earned approval with a "Come to class at 8 AM sharp tomorrow."

It evoked a special kind of joy and anticipation in him, one that was quite different from the feeling of helping others.

Five years had passed since Dorjelang became a hat-making apprentice.

On this day, he chose a dandelion as the flower for the spring-welcoming hat.

Carrying his new hatmaking chest, he set out to journey once more. He still dreampt of the past, of the rocky mountain paths, the snow, the forests, the ever-flowing winds, and the gently swaying foxtails.

A breeze sent the dandelion on his hat toward distant mountains to collect these dreams. He wondered who it would stir awake this time.

|s2_title = The World Outside the Hat