"A young king made the habit of walking amongst the people of his village so as to learn of each subject personally. Every night, upon the king's walks, he would see a frail old woman tending to the same persimmon tree. After many nights of this, he decided to finally break silence and inquire about her craft.

"You must love the fruit a great deal to spend so many hours ensuring the tree comes to bear," the king opined to the elder troll.

The woman held out her palm to offer the great king a fruit from the tree. She smiled as he took a bite and delighted in its rich flavor. It was the most succulent fruit he had tasted in his kingdom.

"I have not eaten a persimmon since I was but a hatchling," the old woman told the king. "My palate cannot tolerate them like it used to."

The king was taken aback by such a strange insight. Whyfor should she raise a tree of no use to her taste with such commitment?

"This tree belonged to my reddened beloved, o great king," said the peasant woman. "She would smile whenever she tasted the fruit. When I let another grow and see the smile of enjoyment upon the face of one sampling its taste, I see a spark of her, and she yet lives on within me."

The king was so moved by this troubled tale of pity that he ensured the woman that this life and this love would be maintained in perpetuity. He was a truth-teller, and the tree was protected by his court evermore, with new orchards planted all from seeds borne from that love."