The Heron Who Collected Stones
It had rained all afternoon, and the whole world was dripping.
Noah put his boots on and went down to the river, because that is where the best puddles are.
Splash. Splash. Splish.
The big ones went splash. The little ones went splish. He did every single puddle on the path, in order, without missing one.
At the bottom, standing in the shallow water on two thin legs, was a heron.
"Are you fishing?" said Noah.
"Certainly not," said the heron. "I'm collecting."
Every story ends the same way — back home, warm, and tucked in. That part never changes, and it's the part that works.