A beautiful field once grew on a high mountain plain, with mighty peaks reigning in the distance. Its flowers flooded the landscape with radiant colors: bright yellows, deep blues, vibrant reds, and sharp purples. It was fit for a king in all his majesty, and so to a king alone it belonged. Only he knew of the glorious pasture, and he often took trips alone to see it.

One day, the king decided he wanted to share his field, so that those he ruled may enjoy what he has had to himself all the years. Once he had found the most skilled worker in the his kingdom, the king invited him to aid his desire.

"I have heard of your great skill," said the king," and I would like your help in making a garden. I have a field which no other eyes but mine have seen. It is has grown just how I want it, only now I want to use your skill to make a path around and through it. Can you do this for me?"

"Let me see your field, your majesty," said the man, "and I assure you that I shall make it into a glorious garden, worthy of your splendor."

And so the king led the man up on the mountain plain. As they walked, the king said, "I trust that you will tell no one of this work until it is complete. I want it to be prepared rightly for all to see."

When they reached the field the man was stunned. "There was no other place in the world like it!" he said. Then he thought to himself, If I could have this field as my own, I would not let another see it. Surely there is no one else alive who is deserves this field more than I. And there, on the edge of the field, the man killed his king.

The man buried the king where he had fallen and left the mountain plain. He returned the next day to enjoy his scene; however, it had withered, died, and smelt strongly of blood. Despite his great work upon the land, the beautiful field never returned, for he would never be worth the glory of the fallen king.