El Molino de Viento (The Windmill)

I am the Windmill atop the hill, my sails turning with every breeze that blows from distant lands. When the caravan's cry reaches a new city, it is my blades that catch the wind and carry the tale. I grind the grain of reputation into flour that feeds the market. The world sees my sails turning and knows: here is a place of commerce and journey.

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A merchant from Fez once spread his carpet before me. He had no grain, no mill, only a story: three cities, ten nights, the moon over the Alhambra. I caught his words in my sails. By morning, travellers from six kingdoms had read his tale. The wind does not ask permission. It only turns.