Amidst the loot, an ornamental fountain slept. It had not been awake for a thousand years, but now as it was stacked beside the furniture, the golden candelabras, the paintings and the silver cutlery that the crowd had taken from the house after they had killed the wise man and his whole family, it opened its eyes and looked out on the landscape. Beneath the house a deep fjord cut into the mountains. It was deep enough for large ships to sail, and far below the house — connected to the house by an old stairway carved into the mountainside — was a landing stage that pilgrims had used when coming to see the wise man.
It was a sunny day but not too hot, as a strong breeze came in through the fjord from the sea. The fountain — a wonderful piece depicting a young woman in rags surrounded by crows — looked out at the fjord and thought that this must be the most beautiful sight anyone could see. She was not in the least disturbed by the villagers' loud voices as they argued about how to divide the wise man's treasures. She watched the fjord's beauty and calm settled in her bronze breast.
Suddenly she was violently shaken as the village innkeeper tried to move her toward his donkey wagon. She was heavy, so four men had to help him. She was placed in the backyard of the inn, opposite a large oak and the shell midden from all the oysters eaten there. It was even more beautiful than the fjord.
She stayed awake for two years, until the day the innkeeper was hanged in the oak together with five other villagers. Two days later she was moved back to the wise man's house, where a new wise man had settled with his family.
She decided to sleep for another thousand years.