A fortune teller sat in his tower, practicing seeing into the future.
Instead of using tarot cards or a crystal ball to read the future, he used fine cloth he imported from the East. One day, as he was peering into the future, a strong guest of wind blew through his open window, carrying the cloth straight out the other one. With it being his sole future-seeing cloth, he began chasing his prized possession.
The fortune teller ran down the stairs, across the empty plains, and into a small village before he finally caught up to his cloth. When he got to it, he discovered his beautiful Asian cloth caught in a grindstone. He pulled it out, only to find it torn up and covered in wheat dust. Nonetheless, it was the only thing he had, so he returned to his tower.
When he finally got home, he shut the windows, dusted off his piece of fabric, and began seeing into the future again. Right when he was about to get a glimpse of time unseen, the cloth suddenly erupted into flames, causing a small explosion and singeing the man's eyebrows.
The moral of the story?
Don't scry over milled silk.