“Since there’s someone like you to chat with, I think I’ll move in nearby.”

No matter how much I hoped he wasn’t serious, he was. He foraged in the woods and gathered up a pile of sticks and moss. These were mixed together to create something like a bird’s nest. Meanwhile, he chatted with the rock the entire time about pointless things. Might as well say he’s talking to the rock rather than myself since he seems unable to hear what I’m saying. The first few times were a fluke or something.

The delusions of this cuckoo matched the winglenths of my insults. The rock itself, as usual, did nothing. The crazy Druid would move it around occasionally but treated it with care. That was one of the few good things about him. Mainly, he’d move the rock to different vantage points when he went out of sight like on the bridge or a tree stump. It made things much easier to watch.

“The type of Druid I am is a sub-branch that appreciates both nature and man-made things, especially bridges. Which is why I didn’t use the bridge to cross the river. This sub-branch is known as trolls,” said the crazy Druid while moving the bird’s nest looking mess under the bridge. It was his new home.

After that, a few days passed by peacefully as the Druid foraged for food and literally lived there. He started out as a crazy, old man but became a somewhat welcome visitor. That is, until one day the old man said something very cryptic. One moment, he was calmly twisting his shirt to get water out after digging out some clams, the next he looked straight at the rock and said something.

“What’s that? There’s more than one of you and I can only hear you and not the other one?”