A cabin sits in a forest, one that is traversed by many and used by all in the nearby town. This cabin is owned by an old trapper and woodcarver. No one knows exactly how long he has lived in that cabin, not even the trapper himself. But what they do know is that he is the source of many of the town's joys. This trapper is where our story starts, or, in his case, ends.

The sun is high in the sky, and a cloud of dust surrounds a young boy on a horse in the middle of the square. High above his head, he holds the flag of a neighboring kingdom for all to see.

“Our king has surrendered!”

The words ricochet off the stone walls before a bell is rung from the tower above, signaling to all the end of the war. The boy is pulled from his horse and taken directly to the king’s adviser to discuss the details of the surrender.

It has been hours since the boy was put in a room, waiting for the king to draft his response. He is beginning to worry that the surrender was refused, and he will be kept as a slave. Just then, the door swings open, and he isn’t even given a moment to trip on the rug before he is in front of the advisor once again.

“You are to return to your kingdom and deliver this.” The advisor’s voice and posture are as stiff as the statues around them as he gives the order.

The boy can’t stop his curiosity from oozing out of his mouth as he takes the message. “Did the king accept? Is the war over?”

The advisor doesn’t let his eyes linger on the boy as he turns around, “Your answer will come with the wind. If you smell smoke tonight, it would be wise not to linger.” He lets out a dry chuckle as the boy is taken by the guards and led back to the stables.

As the shadows grow along the ground, the boy can’t help but look over his shoulder. He doesn’t exactly know what he expects to see. Torches, a cloud of dust larger than the one he is kicking up now? All he knows is that the flag he sees rising over the horizon is a welcome view, no matter what message he holds in his hand.

The relief is quickly lost as tens of people wait at the gate upon his arrival, their faces dropping in horror at the sight of the brown wax sealing the letter shut.