AN IMAGE FROM THE SPRUCE MOOSE:

A RIDDLE FROM THE SPRUCE DUKE:

One of us falls, and never breaks.

One of us breaks, but never falls.

What are we?

ANSWERS PLEASE.

TRANSLATION AVAILABLE SOON

This tale is told in the midst of a great battle.
The battle between the Duke of Spruce and the moose of . . . Spruce.
Both fine warriors in their own rights and both with legends leading far back into the pages of time.

The Spruce moose was known for his agileness in combat and wicked bad hooves, trimmed with a fine silk shipped from the nearby towned named Silk.
He was the quickest moose they had ever seen, he galloped in the winds of time, though meese were not known for this. He hopped through balcony windows when noone was home and he flung wardrobe doors open wildly, always disappointed by the lack of silken apparel.
He would prance and galovant around the land of Spruce as though he thought he was 'all that', little knowing that where one part of the legend began another must exist to temper such frivolousness.

This was the job of the Spruce Duke, known much for his cunning and guile he would linguistically challenge his rivals knowing full well that they were nothing but shit compared to his robust thesaurus like brain.
He would mock them when they did not understand and then apologise and joke when he realised what he had done and then go and do something else for a while so that everyone else forgot about it AND through all of this he remained strong and resolute in his aims, to write words of such frivolous beauty that he may one day best his un-knowing opponent the mighty Spruce Moose.

Soon after, they both met and exchanged large knowing words over an admiral pie and a fine scotch which finally ended in a union and although lacking in any proper collective name, were satisfied to be announced as their singular selves.

TRANSLATION AVAILABLE SOON