A prisoner of her own mistake

Or, from Brussels to Prague.

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As it turns out, Frankfurt is not the end of the line for the train Priscilla took from Brussels.  So instead of snuggled aboard the proper train, dreaming away to Prague, our heroine found herself hanging out in Nuremberg in the middle of the night.  Despite being sorely sleep-deprived, her scrape-sorting skills prevailed, and she made a new plan.

So off she went to Schwandorf, where the city crest is half a rampant lion emerging from a boot (homage to one of its most illustrious citizens, Puss-in-Boots).  And where Priscilla was delightfully reminded of God’s kind provision both in her railpass being adequate for the remainder of this leg of the trip, and in a wonderful bakery where she got this:

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What a tasty-looking reprieve, don’t you think?

And then back on the train, safe and sound all the way to Prague.

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