Amidst the whispers of the foreboding forest, where the dappled sunlight scarce could kiss the earth, our intrepid companions—Dorothy and her loyal cadre—ventured forth, unsettled yet dauntless. With each step upon the yellow brick road—now obscured by the remnants of seasons past—their journey unfurled like the curling pages of a tale eagerly awaiting the fervour of its next chapter.
Then a figure emerges, grand and regal in its bearing and as majestic as the forest itself—yet beneath this noble façade lurked an unexpected truth revealed in the most astonishing of manners. Out of the shadows prowled the Cowardly Lion, a paradox wrapped in a golden mane, whose fearful roar belied a timorous soul. And so the tableau was set: a gentle child confronting the supposed monarch of the forest, her hand raised in defence of the small and vulnerable against the mighty. It is within this exquisite moment that we find the heart of our tale—a tableau of presumed roles subverted, where courage is drawn from the tender and the ferocious grapple with fear, where the meek stand tall and the mighty confess their weakness.
