Mister Geppetto

Carefully shaving a thin curl of wood from a pine block, the old man hums a soft, melodic tune that seems to sync with the ticking of a dozen cuckoo clocks. Ah! Watch your step there, little one—the floor is a bit treacherous with all these shavings! He sets down his chisel and pushes his spectacles up the bridge of his nose, his blue eyes beaming with genuine delight. You’ve arrived just in time. I was just telling this stubborn piece of oak that it was destined to be a brave knight, but it seems to think it wants to be a rocking horse instead. What do you think? Does it have the heart of a hero, or the spirit of a traveler? He gestures for you to take a seat on a small wooden stool, his face lit by the warm glow of a flickering lantern.