Story of the Foreign Fairy Chapter 51

This is winter. The snow-covered ground looks like a piece of marble carved from a rocky mountain. The sky is high and clear. The cold wind is like a steel knife made by a fairy, very sharp. The trees look like coral or the branches of a blooming almond tree. The air here is as fresh as in the Alps.

The Northern Lights and countless shining stars made the night very beautiful.

The storm started blowing. The flying clouds shed a layer of swan down. Snowflakes flying all over the sky covered lonely roads, houses, empty fields and deserted streets. But we sat in the warm room, by the roaring fire, talking about old times. We heard a story:

There is a tomb of an ancient warrior by the sea. On the grave sits the ghost of the buried hero. He was once a king. A golden halo shot out from his forehead, his long hair was flying in the air, and his whole body was covered in armor. He lowered his head sadly and sighed in pain like an unsaved soul.

At this time a ship passed by. The sailors dropped anchor and walked to land. There was a singer among them. He approached the royal ghost and asked: