The day the letter fluttered to the ground was a perfect one, filled with a brisk blue sky where sky could be seen. A slight breeze ruffled Roland’s dark hair as he sat on the hill overlooking the village.

The breeze was unsettling. It had a deep, raw edge that the small houses and farms were unaccustomed to – it seemed to vibrate with an electricity that filled Roland with unplacable anxiety.

And all the time, the shadow of the castle hung over him, like the threat of an impending collision.

Roland often wondered what it was like up there, with all the green ivy and golden-hued music. As it was, he could only look up at its immense, rocky bottom, feeling like a guitar string that was wound too tightly and apt to snap at any moment.

Something is wrong, he thought to himself as he lay in the fading fall grass at the top of the hill.

And it was at that moment the tiny white square fluttered down from amid all that rock and ivy, landing right on his chest.

It simply said:

“HELP.”