A river dreamt, and a river was.

Pure water ran calmly through the life it nurtured, stroking apon the busy fish about, until the smoothest rocks it beheld.

The river was envied amongst the ponds, amongst the puddles and the pools.

But this little river was not thirsty today.

So it gave until the ponds turned to rivers, until the puddles turned to ponds, and the pools turned to wells.

It gave until it wanted back.

But received none.

The once glistening lake still shines below the same sun, but this time, the sun is no friend.

Because where there was once softness, now all had turned to stone.