The spring flowed up through the broken rock, so cold that it stung your skin when you touched it, so pure that it left an indescribable sweetness on your lips, so satisfying that it was said just a small sip could refresh your soul. It flowed down the mountain so clear that it shone like diamonds in the sun, refreshing the land and bringing newness and life where ever it touched.
At no time was this truer than in March and April when the spring waters were joined by the waters from the early rains and they overflowed the banks, the stream turning into a rushing boiling river as it tumbled down the mountains and into the valleys below. Within the shortest time grasses would turn a vibrant green, flowers would suddenly appear and both the land and the water would be teeming with life.
It was no surprise then late one April when a hunter walking through the trees came upon an unusual looking plant with blood red blooms and one single heart shaped fruit growing beside the stream. It had been a long and somewhat unsatisfying day. He was hungry and tired. If it had not been so perhaps, he would have thought more carefully before taking the fruit.