"I agree," you say. The fairies cheer and spin through the air, tugging you forward at a dizzying pace. Trees blur past. The ground lifts and dips beneath your feet as if the land itself is being folded and unfolded. "You're doing wonderfully," a fairy sings. "So fast," says another. At last, you arrive at a narrow ridge overlooking a deep valley. Far below, you spot a flash of green light. "The Crown," the fairies whisper. They point toward a winding path that drops steeply into the valley. "Good luck, you must reach it and return to Iresdale by sunset," a fairy informs you. The fairies all start giggling. You look at the great distance between you and the crown. "But, how will I…" you start to ask. "Tsk, tsk, remember no questions!" A fairy smirks. With that the fairies fly off, a minute later you can still hear the echoes of their giggles. You begin the trek towards the crown. Halfway down, the ground gives way. Rocks tumble. The path twists in on itself. The valley seems to rearrange itself. By the time you reach the bottom, it is becoming dark. Even if you reach the crown, you are too late. The next morning, when you finally find your way back to Iredale it is easy to see that good luck is no longer there. Townsfolk can hardly walk more than 20 steps without tripping, and everyone keeps losing things constantly. The End.