The boulder begins to shift as you watch. You heard their was a storyteller who used to live here, long ago. You journeyed for miles upon miles to get a chance to sit at the feet of this wise old man as he spins his next tale, and yet all you found was a boulder sitting in the center of the path. You waited for what seemed like years in hopes that he would return.
At first, you thought the movement was just your imagination playing tricks on you after all this time. You rub your eyes and continue to watch the large stone that almost looks like a tombstone from this distance. It moves! Once again the boulder shifts, knocking dust and moss loose to the path below. You are on your feet now, the excitement building within your breast. Yet another shift! This one actually slid the rock ever so slightly to one side.
You rush to it’s side wanting to help but knowing that the stone is simply too large for you to move. You shout encouragements at the stone who would be a grave. “Come on! You can do it! Just a little more!” The stone slides again and beneath it you see the tip of dirty finger, crusted with mud and the ravages of time. “Please, I know you can do it again! Please come back to me, to the world!” With one last push, the boulder rolls away to rest beside the path and before you stands the storyteller you came to see.