The foyer was a barren wasteland.

A simple portrait upon a beige wall, a lamppost unplugged, never lit.

Yet, there stood a mighty ox adjacent the grand, winding staircase. Its hooves buried deep and
confidently into the chestnut wood, as if the remainder of the room was built around it, fearful to
disturb such a creature. No matter the lightness of foot, the wood would always creak due to the
lack of trespassers into the hollow hall. The ox intimidated, struck fear into the minds of laymen,
like no other. It's coat shined with a porcelain black sheen. It's horns the purest shade of white.
Its roar, omnipotent, bellowing through every molding. The roar of the mighty ox glided
throughout generations as a staple in the animal kingdom and as the irrefutable ballad of glory.

The tamer of the ox was even more so a heroine.

The only man able to cull the gallantry necessary to even face such a beast was that of the
tamer. Their cultivation held the heart of a valiant knight, yet the curiosity of an Enlightenment
philosopher. The gentle hands of a seasoned mother, yet the force of a gilded sword. Years of
training mastered by the brightest of individuals and passed down through decades of
assiduous ancestry were mandatory of a tamer.

Their mutualism, the accord between the tamer and ox, was of the utmost vitality. The ox,
almighty and bloodcurdling, burdened a grave handicap. The ox demanded the authority of
every wall, every floor board, but was never to speak a single word without ministry. The
creature revealed to the tamer a genuine innocence, a withering hand of pity. The tamer acted
as its linguist, never fearing the mighty ox like the layman would. Their song calms the most
torrential of oceans, halts the most boisterous of cyclones. Those whose fingers tingle with
melody, grace the keys of the might ox with a repertoire like no other to walk the cold earth.

Have you found the Melody of the Ox?