Tainting heat bleeds into everything. The trees, lush and green, cast shadows that bask the land before them in a comforting chill that gives the boy momentary comfort as he passes through, free from the blinding light-heat of sky’s relentless torch. Padding along behind him are his two brothers, older in years but lacking in the knowledge that writhes in the boy’s own consciousness, itching to be used and growing ever restless as he is guided forward by his mother, with no particular destination in mind.

At last they stop, his family gathering about some sort of landmark, his own interest being long since stanched within the gaping wound that is boredom. The need to stop soon becomes the need to walk aimlessly once more as the heat beats ceaselessly against his skin, threatening to turn it a puffy red.

Body and mind alike are relieved as the cooling vapors of a fountain brush against sun scorched skin. The shade of countless leafy trees cast a blanket of darkness across the soft green carpet of the garden, but there is still nothing to do and the boy finds himself growing bored once more.

Standing before a sculpture of stone, he studies its design to keep himself from growing impatient. He looks again to the rocks that line the path, but finds himself looking beyond what his eyes see, and instead to the countless thoughts of others who see that rock, who overlook it because it so ordinary, it blends in perfectly. He lifts up the rock and considers this for a moment, an idea springs into mind and he soon finds himself placing the rock on the sculpture he studied so closely a moment ago. To his satisfaction, it blends in just as it had on the path. One would look at it and give it no more thought than they would a fleck of dust, for it is now, apparently, a part of the sculpture.