Breaking out in a grin, the jolly man’s features wrinkled as his face softened and his kind eyes filled with happiness. The boundless relief flooded through him as the finality of the situation came about: it was over; their troubles ended and fears lain to rest. His actions had brought joy to a nation, and the King could not help but throw his head back and roar with laughter as the enormous crowd laughed and cheered, chanting his name. Little children grabbed at his flowing robe as it flickered in the gentle summer’s breeze, the large sun casting warmth onto his face. Choirs sang and bands let their tunes ring out about the square as the celebrations began. Fists pumping, men and women alike cried out: they adored him and he loved each and every one of them back. He had never felt such a feeling, their adoration brining a tear to his eye, making his stomach flutter with excitement. It was incredible; his shoulders still shook up and down as the laughter turned silent, as the excess had caused him to lose his breath. His stomach ached from it, but he simply couldn’t stop: it felt amazing to be so jubilant and free at last. After all these years of oppression, the people finally had something to hoot about – and that they did: the celebrations would last for weeks. But the King just stood speechless, a helpless grin stuck on his incredulous face: he was their hero.