I have spent a week here. The people call it Tune. I see why. 

They have not stopped singing since dawn. Their melodies dance around the valley, it ricochets off the frozen lake, it swirls around the falling snow, and it sails through cracks in houses with the wind. The crystal trees and sparkling vineyards sing with them. It is sweeter than honey and smoother than hot coffee. 

I whittled little toys for the children. There are only twelve of them. Pirates and ponies, birds and bears, cows and cats. I will tell my final story tonight before I continue my search for Alcalá de Pirma. 

I've saved the best for last. It's a daring tale of kidnapped princesses, evil princes, the Dread Pirate Roberts, cowardly hunters, and revenge. Our heroine is a swashbuckling rogue who joins the opposing side only to realize he is wrong. So he changes sides and in doing so, the tides turn allowing good to vanquish evil.

I think I'll call it... Inigo Montoya's Quest for Retribution.