At the thorny tower, he didn’t climb. He simply stretched his long neck up, up, up to the highest window, and with a delicate pinch of his bill, plucked the sleeping princess from her bed. He tucked her gently into a pouch on his chest (a custom saddlebag Jacques had sewn into his harness).
Quick as a snake, Ganderel lifted one giant boot and stomped . The fairy’s wand snapped under the silver buckle. The fairy herself was launched into a nearby tree, where she hung upside down by her own tangled hair.
The bandits laughed—until Ganderel spread his wings. Each wing spanned the length of a small boat. He charged, honking a war cry that shook the leaves from the trees. With one mighty sweep of his neck, he sent three bandits tumbling into the pig trough. With a single stomp of a booted foot, he flattened their stolen cart of corn. giant goose puss in boots
“Your Majesty,” he said, “I have no interest in marrying a sleeping princess. But I would like a solid gold feeding trough and a year’s supply of cracked corn. Deal?”
The king, desperate, agreed.
The bandits fled, vowing never to return.
Jacques pointed a trembling finger. “They took my harvest! And they mock my sheep!” At the thorny tower, he didn’t climb
Ganderel had inherited a pair of worn leather boots from a travelling shoemaker who had once taken shelter under his wing. The boots were scuffed, too small for the goose’s webbed feet, but Ganderel crammed them on anyway. In the cracked leather, he felt dapper. He felt distinguished .