A cloud of adversity loomed large over the dwarfs of Doon. There was a magic tree right in the middle of the city which usually bore sweet fruits. All the dwarfs in Doon ate this fruit. In this way, the dwarfs ingested the magic of the tree. But now the tree was wilting. At least once in a hundred years, magic water needed to be poured at the roots of that tree. Once in a hundred years, some courageous soldier would brave many dangers, cross the faraway land of evil forces in the South and bring that water. But this time, not one courageous soldier had volunteered.
