With trepidation, small footsteps disturb the cobbled pathways that lead toward a large, seasoned maple. Within the roots, gnarled and forgotten to time, there lay the wishes of those before him that weren't quite resolved. He gently picks them up, and one at a time ties them back to the lower-hanging branches not yet adorned with the multicolored slips of worn paper. Smiling now that the task is complete, he ponders whether to add his own to the dark tree whose shadow lay cast over him, a dark blanket from the heat of a sunlit sky. Would it matter, in the grand scheme of things, were he to make his desires palpable? Would someone hear his plea? Offer him respite, along with those beside him, from the plagues terrorizing his region? He swallows hard, and purses his lips. It is then that he makes up his mind; unrolling the paper and bracing it against a stone, writing his one, and only wish:

_{Save Träule. Please? My home is in danger. At least, protect my family and friends. Thank you.}