The mist rolled through the valley before dawn, blanketing everything in tiny droplets that hung on the still grass like so many precious gems. When the sun did make its appearance, drawing golden rays of light through the vapor, it looked to be shining on a newly made world.

It was a badger to first disturb the scene, bouncing haphazardly through the long grass and leaving a trail of bent blades. Behind her trailed four young, snuffling playfully and seeing who could push to the front. They did not loiter, and hurried on to wherever they meant to go.

A while later, a songbird entered the valley, though he was wiser than to interrupt the silence so early in the morn. He perched on the statues head, flicked his head left and right in search of a gnat, and saw that there were none. Instead, he dropped through the air like a falling autumn leaf and landed with grace on the statue’s left hand.

The stone man’s hands were stretched before him, palms raised in an inviting manner, and water had collected there. The bird perched on his thumb and drank, and presently flitted off to another valley.

The statue remained, as he had for a hundred years, his gaze hanging over the valley. At least the bird had not needed to relieve himself today, he thought, with the dull, creeping thoughts of a petrified man. And the badger cubs were getting so big.