In a time long past, there dwelt a mule, steadfast in labor, traversing a well-trodden path with water and goods upon its back. To the North and South, it journeyed, its allegiance shifting with the direction of the path. Born into servitude, burdened beyond its need, yet within its heart lay a wellspring of purpose and joy.
One day, as the sun cast long shadows to the South, the mule's master, a man of meager means, placed a load light as a feather's touch upon it. With a newfound lightness, the mule galloped with an unbridled spirit, feeling as though it carried not goods but the essence of freedom.
However, upon reaching the Southern realm, the Northern master gazed upon the mule, weary and spent from its hastened pace. With a stern hand, he loaded the mule again, this time with a burden so immense it seemed to anchor the air around them. Once liberated, now shackled, the mule trembled under the weight, its bones whispering tales of impending despair.
As the faithful mule commenced its northward sojourn, a moment of unbearable strain befell upon it at the mountain's apex. Its knees faltered, and its bones surrendered to the merciless load. In anguish, the mule cried out, "Why have you laden me with all manner of heavy metals—so heavy that my very soul quivers?"
The Northern master, with a gaze as cold as the mountain stone, replied, "I have added naught but the usual; it is your perception that is skewed."
Tears streaming down its face, the mule lamented its fractured state, cursing the master for a burden it could no longer bear. Immobile, devoid of its once cherished joy, it lay.
Thus, the Northern master stood at a crossroads: to acknowledge the mule's plight, to lighten its load and offer solace for a spirit wronged, or to chastise the creature for its perceived weakness, for not growing more robust under the relentless weight, for failing to understand the nature of its burden when it could scarce crane its neck to see.