Stellan was having a peaceful morning.

He enjoyed the chilled northern breeze that caressed his sides, the familiar, sharpened scents of the alpine trees that bit into his nose, and the quiet laziness that enveloped the early-morning day.

He had not been able to chase the sun this morning, but it had been alright—he had told himself—he would try again tomorrow. For now, he remained as stationary as a statue as his gaze had slipped closed and he allowed himself the pleasant minutes of just basking in the warmth of the summer’s light.

It was nice.

Warmth, peace, serenity all balanced by the steady inhale of his breath—In and out and—

BONK.

His eyes flung open, wide as can be, as a sharpening pain radiated like a knife squarely skewered into his skull. He had yelped somewhere between the thing hitting him and his eyes flinging open; but when his gaze turned toward the world around him, he could not quite make out what had hit him.

Stellan sent a suspicious glare toward the sky.

Was it raining?

Though he could not quite recall rain ever feeling like that…

Ow... he mumbled quietly to himself as he stood from his once meditative stance and sent a glance toward the ground below him.

It was then that he spied the rock that had certainly not been there before.

He bent down to sniff at it.

Where had it come from? The sky? The trees?