The young man who sits at the edge of the pier was a knight
once. Now he is a writer. One would expect him to write tales of
glory: the sort of thing a knight would have lived through and
experienced, just as he did. He could write about the fight to
defeat the evil Raven, or how the prince was rescued and then
rescued his true love. He has lived through it, this quiet
writer on the edge of the pier, and he could write about it if
he wants.  But there is someone else who has lived through it
next to him in the water. She was a princess once, and she was a
girl once, and she was always a duck. Now she is a duck again.
It would be silly for the young man who sits at the edge of the
pier to write tales of glory, because on these special days when
he sits at the edge of the pier, he writes for her, and the two
of them have lived through all that. They wore the mask of the
knight and the mask of the princess for long enough. Now they
are a writer and a duck, which is what they always were, even if
it took the writ