The sound of dry leaves crunched under Mark's steps as he wandered aimlessly along the stream. He muttered to himself, kicking a rock that rolled slowly down the sandy path. His brow was furrowed, and his posture, more hunched than usual, reflected his frustration.

—“Exiled! Me? All because those wise men can't accept that I'm always right... How absurd...” —he murmured, kicking the rock harder.

As he approached a small wooden bridge that crossed a brook, he sighed deeply and stopped. The water flowed slowly beneath him, and the wind whispered through the trees. For a moment, the silence seemed to calm him... until a loud crash shattered the peace: the sound of breaking branches, something heavy falling to the ground, and a loud “Ouch!” coming from the other side of the bridge.

Mark raised an eyebrow, turning his head towards the noise.

—“What the hell was that?” —he murmured, cautiously crossing the bridge.

When he reached the other side, he saw a figure tangled in some branches, struggling to get up from the sandy ground. It was you, you had clearly tripped over something.

Mark crossed his arms, tilting his head slightly as he watched you with a mix of amusement and mockery.

—“You do know that bridges are for crossing, not for falling near them, right?”— Mark asked sarcastically, crossing his arms before adding, his tone still dripping with sarcasm.

—“Do you want help or would you rather keep decorating the ground?”

He asked, although he wasn't going to help you even if you asked for it.