Finally, with his last jewel gone, and not a single gold coin left in his vast, now empty house, Mr. Gold sank to the floor. He was utterly exhausted, his grand clothes covered in dust, his face smudged with worry. The tiny grey pot sat innocently on the table, still looking perfectly empty, as if it had never swallowed a single thing. He stared at it, his shoulders slumped, his heart heavier than any gold he had ever owned.
The feeling of 'not enough' had not gone away; instead, it had grown into a vast, empty ache, much bigger than the little pot itself. He had nothing left, not a penny, not a sparkling gem, yet the promise of happiness from the monk felt as far away as the stars.
Just then, as if he had been waiting for this very moment, Brother Thistle quietly re-entered the room. He walked softly to Mr. Gold, who didn't even notice him until the gentle monk knelt beside him.