Once upon a time a woodworker’s apprentice named Trundle, troubled yet again once more by murky dreams of sliding darkness, tossed and turned on his bed of wood shavings. A woman, seen below as she appeared to him, loomed in the murk of his dream and sang this song: ‘Bronze to silver, silver to gold, ride to the moon before you are old.’
Trundle popped awake, bolted to his feet, and blinked into the silent darkness, which somehow seemed to slide around him. Am I awake? he asked himself. To the stable for the bronze hissed a voice in his head. To the stable he stumbled, barely aware that he moved. Ride the bronze hissed the voice in his head. He threw himself onto the back of a bronze pony he’d never seen before, and off they sped, tearing through the countryside, Trundle clutching the pony’s mane, the pony straining for all it was worth and more. On the open plain they approached a silver stallion, and the bronze pony threw Trundle to the ground, stood high on its hind legs and disappeared. The silver stallion grasped the back of Trundle’s nightshirt in its teeth and tossed the dazed woodworker’s apprentice onto its back. The silver stallion raced off at a pace twice that of the bronze pony, and before the jolted and stunned Trundle had a chance to gather his wits, he was thrown to the ground and found himself staring at the golden hooves of a magnificent golden stallion four times the size of the silver. The golden stallion’s glittery eye held Trundle frozen and sent him to a sleep empty of dreams.
When Trundle was awakened by distant chanting, he was on the moon. The golden stallion bowed low and shook its massive head, sending Trundle falling to the ground by the gates of the moon palace. The gates were open. No one was about. The golden stallion was gone. Trundle got to his feet and wandered toward the palace, led by the distant chanting riding out from within its walls. He stumbled into the great hall and was captured by her gaze, as shown below. He fell senseless to the moon marble floor.
This time when Trundle awoke, he was garbed in the finest silks and satins and lying on downy softness in a chamber all white and gold. A voice called to him from behind an oaken door carved with the most beautiful scrollwork he had ever seen. He went to the door, caressed a delicate turn of leaf, and thought that one day, given the chance, he would be able to produce such splendid work. He opened the door. There she was, as pictured below.
‘Come here, my dear, my Prince,’ she said.
‘I am but a simple woodworker’s apprentice,’ said Trundle.
‘Why else do you think you are here?’ said The Princess In The Moon.