Waldemar with the Teapot Dwarves

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The train had brought him to the coast, and even before the sun had sunk its arc over the sea, Waldemar stood on the soft sand. The sea roared with a force that smelled of distance and mystery, and the seagulls circled the sky like white thoughts. Waldemar took a deep breath. "So this is where the Teapot Dwarves are supposed to be," he murmured, adjusting his backpack, already scarred by previous travels. He walked along the beach until, between the dunes and dune grass, an enormous teapot rose up, half-submerged in the sand, marked by waves and storms, but in the golden light of the evening, almost like a palace. A large piece of porcelain had been cracked open, and a warm, shimmering light shone through the opening. Waldemar approached and froze: Inside, there were no shards of glass, but shelves full of books, small chairs, and a set table. In front of the teapot sat a dwarf with a red pointed hat, green robe, and snow-white beard. He balanced a tray of steaming cups. "Welcome, traveler!" he called in a firm voice. "I am Zarnikus, keeper of the Teapot Library. Come, sit down, the wind is fresh, and tea warms heart and paws." Waldemar sat down gratefully in the sand, set down his backpack, and took the cup. The tea tasted of herbs and a hint of salt, as if the sea itself had seasoned the leaves. "This is delicious," he murmured. "We've been expecting you," Zarnikus continued. "The seagulls carry our messages. This morning, one circled over the sea and reported a blue bear traveling on a ship." Waldemar's eyes widened. "Captain Bluebear... so he really is here." "Perhaps he'll find you, perhaps you'll have to look for him," Zarnikus said, his eyes sparkling. "But first, you shall see our houses." Together they stepped into the pot. Waldemar was amazed as he discovered an entire world: corridors that led into tiny rooms—kitchens with hearths made of shells, bedrooms with blankets made of seagull feathers, workshops containing tiny compasses. Lanterns hung everywhere, their light shimmering like collected sunsets. "We collect what the sea gives us," Zarnikus explained. "And we turn it into stories." Waldemar ran his paw over a stack of cards inscribed with tiny runes. In one corner, he discovered a clock whose hands were made of fish bones. It was as if time itself ticked smaller here, yet more preciously. Finally, they returned outside. The sun hung low now, the sky turning from gold to purple. Out on the water, a sailing ship passed by. Waldemar felt his heart beat faster. For a moment, he thought he saw a figure at the helm—tall, blue, with a billowing cloak. "You saw him, didn't you?"