This is a story of a mighty lion who chased a tiny mouse—a slip of a rodent with little meat on his bones. But the lion who thinks much of himself, roars and pounces and shakes its golden mane more for theatrics than anything else. The lion’s massive paws eat up the ground in chase. The mouse scurries, looking for cover. Ahead is a small opening in a stone wall. The lion launches at the mouse, a nightmare made of fur and yellow-toothed snarl. The mouse slips into the hole, into the safety of darkness. The lion hammers the wall, his form bursts through to the other side, morphing into the very stone he shatters. A mighty statue with a gaping maw and a silent throat.
 
Now, every day before dusk, the mouse perches on top of the lion’s stone muzzle, cleaning its paws and smiling as if to say, “those who roar loudly and foolishly will be silenced. Don’t you forget, it is the meek who inherit the earth—or at the very least, a broken wall.”