A week had passed without anything interesting happening. The man, who enjoyed throwing things recklessly, has not come back since the stone-skipping incident. More pebbles and stones were revealed as the water level receded, restoring the rock’s harem somewhat.

Just how fickle was the rock? Replacing those he’d lost within a week of the incident. Although insulting it is quite childish, since it’s just a rock. The stones and pebbles had taken some abuse from nature and mankind, leaving only the rock and boulder unscathed.

But it would not have been interesting if such a situation remained like this forever. The passage of time has always brought interesting things.

Early in the morning, a man—not the stone-skipping man—came to the edge of the river and set up an easel and some painting tools. He was an eccentric man with long hair down to his shoulders. This wasn't completely abnormal, but half of the hair was shaved down until he was bald on one side of his head. It was as if his hair was just another art medium that needed to suit his idea of creativity. His clothes, on the other hand, were a pair of brown pants and a brown shirt with a messy, paint-stained apron over them. It seemed he was a strange one, but anything was better than nothing.

Many times this man went in front of the easel with a pencil, lightly sketching something before erasing it with grunts of frustration. The painting tools had remained untouched the entire time. The irony of being a painter yet rendered unable to paint.

After countless attempts, the painter gave up painting, went to the stones on the riverside, and began moving them around. It seemed there was an invisible pattern that this painter followed. Perhaps, the gods whispered into his ears the best way to complement the rock’s surroundings. Those of the art occupation often had more sensitivity to those kinds of things.

But, no—the painter found the rock and picked it up. Then moved it out of his perspective while painting. The painter did not want the rock in his painting. No wonder he’d been unable to paint; the gods had abandoned him.