In the age of the fifth dawn, where echoes of forgotten futures wandered the plains, there was a scene quite unlike any other: a quantum mud puddle resided quaintly beneath the willow's waiting shadow.
It was fearfully imaginative to observe. Each ripple seemed a timeline unspooling, sentences curled into spirals, mysteries released as vapor atop a sunny clouded gaze.
Time travelers, drenched in paradoxes only they could fathom, sometimes dipped their toes. In that evanescent second, a telling whisper unfolded—a knight from the thousandth time-fortnight found himself mid-quest again, ever transformed by the wilting gesture of his own temporal folly.