The small boy sped on feet of fire through the underground passages of the dungeons of the castle. He was soaked with the rain that fell outside. His bonnet was askew. His eyes were glowing with the urgency of a message he had carried for a two-mile sprint through the dawn twilight.
He identified a room ahead and tore into it, shouting: “Prince Dunneldeen! Prince Dunneldeen! Wake up! Wake up!”
Dunneldeen had just settled down in his own room, in his own plaid blanket for a nice comfortable snooze, his first in quite some time.
ownownThe small boy was wrestling with excited hands to light a candle dip with a ratchet flint device.
So it was “Prince” Dunneldeen now. They only called him that on feast days or when somebody wanted a favor. His uncle, chief of Clanfearghus, was the last of t
