Once upon a midnight night, there was a swing attached to a willow tree. It swayed in the rhythm of the wind. Every day, kids from the neighborhood would come and ride the swing.

They soared through the sky as if they were flying and they would come back to the ground eager to get on the swing again. They picked the beautifully ripe persimmons from the nearby tree to eat. They had a great time with the swing hanged on the wilting willow tree

Until, that midnight night. The night where everybody was asleep. The night where the village was left unguarded. The night when the robbers striked. The robbers were stealthy but art people. They planned to steal from the chief, the richest of the village.

They tip-toed to the fence barrier, where the willow tree was standing, its branches moving slowly upon the wind. The swing that hung there was fragile, made with pure crystal and morning dew already clinging on. Fortunately, the robbers didn't see the swing, hanging right in front of them, waiting to tangle itself with the two robbers.

When the robbers were only one step away, the wind blew as hard as she could, and blew the branch that stabled it to move until the swing reached them and held as tightly as possible. After, with the help of the persimmon tree, they flew the two robbers to space. They had saved the village, but only to find that their friend the swing was too tangled that he went with them too.

The very next day, the willow tree didn't know what to say to the little children. The kids came out and rushed to the willow tree, only to find the swing gone. The willow tree felt sympathy and let them sit on his swaying branches as if it was a swing. The kids rode the willow tree with faces hung down. But one child, Lily, told them that the swing was safe, after all, he had went somewhere to protect the village like a hero.

Little did they know, that the swing, at the very same moment, were thinking about the joyful children he once seen.

A few months later, when the wind was on her yearly journey around the world, she spotted a swing, covered in moss, but still okay. He was laid down in a sandy island with a few palm trees. She whispered to him that the children were happy, and that they missed him very much.

The swing was glad to hear that, and he told her a message to send to them. She took off, memorizing where he was. And to this day, the wind has become the message whisperer, the airplane of messages, and all the other nicknames they gave her.

But more importantly, the swing was notice as the bravest of the brave, or Sir Brave, as he was called. People honored him for saving their chief, people honored him for his bravery. And most of all, he was remembered like a true hero. "Is this a true story, nanna?" One of the children asked the storyteller. "Yes, yes, when I was you age, long, long time ago, I had been on the swing I told you about. When I was on it, I could see the mountains from far away, and I could see the birds above my head." The storyteller told them.

"What happened next?" Another squeaked. "Well, the wind came rushing back, she td me that the wing was safe," She explained, "The willow tree was so relieved that his pal was safe, and with the swing's permission, a new swing, a stronger one has replaced him. On the swing it has a golden saying on it, In memory of our hero, the swing."

"Wait, isn't your name Lily?" a girl asked. "You have very excellent memory," she complimented, "And yes, my name is Lily Willow." Every child clapped their hands. Lily Willow bowed.