[ WP ] There is a driving force of good behind the scenes of every Disney story . Who lights the path at just the right moment , or fells the tree to divert the hero to the princess ? You have had the job for 30 years now ...

The spectacle-wearing man took in a deep gulp of air as he left his wooden cabin behind for the great green of the outdoors, carrying an apple basket in his hand. He'd spent days cramped up inside the little thing with no more than the companionship of a little kitty that he lavished all of his love and affection on. 
 
 Today was Sunday. A glorious summer's Sunday. Aside from going down to the market-square to stock up on more supplies, there was no work to be done today. Today was a day where Dorts Abory could do nothing more than lounge around like a complete and utter degenerate, drinking and picking his apple trees without a care in the world. 
 
 It's no more than a twenty-minute walk to the apple fields that his family had operated for several generations over, in cooperation with about seven other co-owning families. Constant mood swings between the whole lot of them regarding procedure and policy regarding the trees. 
 
 And from there, there was about a twenty-minute walk over to the town to pick up some bread, lamp-rubbing oil, ice, and ink. Who knows? If the foot-traffic permits, he might be able to stop by that new restaurant that everyone was talking about. Word of a rat problem, however. Might just stick with the one with the frog problem. 
 
 Ideally, that would be a typical Sunday for Mr. Abory. Lounging around and enjoying life. Alas, destiny always schedules its plans at least two weeks in advance with no allowance for rescheduling or the accommodation of busy schedules. 
 
 Ten minutes into walking along the road, Mr. Abory was nearly crushed to death by a white stallion and a reindeer carrying three in a carriage. Abory proceeded to curse his own misfortune. 
 
 `` Are you alright, sir?'' asked the blond at the reins, `` I'm not quite used to carriages, so I think I went a bit too quickly on the roads.'' 
 
 `` Yes, the man who delivers ice for a living thinks that you can go too fast,'' chirped a slick-haired brunette in the back. `` Can we hurry up and get going already? I do n't feel very comfortable where I'm sitting.'' 
 
 `` Oh, do n't be such a stick in the mud, Eugene. I've never seen this part of your country so far. There's hardly any snow around here...'' a red-haired woman replied. 
 
 Abory looked at the carriage full of bickering young adults, recalled that it was Sunday, and immediately attempted to break into a dash in the woods. The white stallion took it upon himself to somehow grab the man by the collar and hold him up in the air. 
 
 The horse sniffed the man, flinging snow at the man's face before pointing, with a hoof, at the basket. 
 
 Abory merely asked, `` What?'' 
 
 The stallion turned to the reindeer and neighed. The reindeer turned to the blond and made whatever sound that a reindeer made. 
 
 The blond translated, `` Which way is the apple fields?'' 
 
 `` Down the way, take a left at the pine tree, beware of the ducks.'' 
 
 The last part came out of Abory's lips unintentionally. He had no idea why. He never had and he never will. The only thing buying his silence was the sudden gold coin that dropped into his pocket from absolutely nowhere in particular. 
 
 The redhead raised an eyebrow, `` Ducks?'' 
 
 `` Ducks.'' 
 
 `` What about the ducks?'' the man known as Eugene asked, exasperated, `` Are like murderous or the singing kind or the tricky riddle-singing kind?'' 
 
 `` The singing kind would be nice,'' said the blond. 
 
 `` Of course, it'd be nice, but it's never that easy. There's always some stupid thing that keeps us busy for about a short, eight minutes, until we finally get what we're looking for.'' 
 
 `` Riddle-singing would be nice,'' the blond corrected himself. 
 
 Eugene groaned, `` Hey, strange man. Any advice for the riddle-singing ducks?'' 
 
 `` Who said anything about riddle-singing?!'' asked Abory. 
 
 `` Kristoff did,'' Eugene pointed at the blond. 
 
 Abory waved a hand, `` Just shut up. All of you. It's an apple field. You'll know what to do when the time comes.'' 
 
 The white stallion huffed and continued to drag the three in the carriage along, all the while those three continued to argue about the strange ducks. 
 
 Abory, on the other hand, continued on his merry way to the village, instead deciding that he would visit the apple fields far, far later into the afternoon. 
 
 -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- - 
 
 Four hours later, Abory was in the rat-infested restaurant sipping through a bowl full of tomato bisque when those three hooligans from earlier came into the restaurant. 
 
 `` May I have your attention please?!'' the man known as Eugene spoke up. `` There is a massive cave full of tiny dragons and an old man, the former king of some island country, is stuck inside clutching onto a sword with his dying breath. We need your help!'' 
 
 For some strange reason, a band full of horn-wearing vikings and some bunch of folks in skirts came running out, following the trio, once one of them shouted something stupid and funny. All of them were armed to the teeth with blunt axes that could cut through wood, and arrows that were probably just regular arrows. 
 
 Abory looked up from his soup, realized that he had been bamboozled by fate for what must've been the 614th time, and swore loudly in kid-friendly fashion before retiring to his home to his ink and parchment to get back to his more preferable work. 
 
 There could he vent his frustrations. There could he unload his heap of rage and frustrations about the day's events and colorful characters into ink drawings and writings that would be used in the picture show in the towns every other week or so. 
 
 That'll surely teach those adventure-seeking punks a lesson.
