The stone, instead of losing speed and falling to the ground, accelerated. Flying straight, without the wobble associated with normal things and the regular effect of gravity, the stone continued on.

It had a mission. It had to reach that Cloud.

The Cloud knew it was about to be hit and cringed. Not because it was afraid, the stone after all would simply pass through it.

But because it knew it had to respond in kind. And when the stone did hit, it wept. A full refreshing shower of rain that fell on the dry parched field of a widowed farmer and his daughter.

The daughter looked out of the window to see the dry earth drinking the precious elixir of life.

“As I said,” her father’s relieved voice rumbled in her ear. “There are always miracles.”