There was once a land that stretched from one sea to another. It had no mountains and very few hills worthy of the name. Everyone who lived there had stopped using the words “high” or “low” to describe places. And, since its people were generally average height, even the words “tall” and “short” were rarely uttered.

But none of these words sufficiently described the lookout that towered above everything and was visible across the land. Captains of passing ships even used it to navigate.

Some say that from the top you could see everyone and everything that happens.

And perhaps you could. No-one had ever tried.

No-one except the sorcerer who lived there.

Long ago the king had commanded that a lookout be built to guard his gold. The sorcerer insisted he had the best stone, could build it himself and offered to guard it too. The king consented.

Once it was built, the sorcerer watched all day every day, looking for anyone who might scheme to steal the gold, or come too close. He began to think of the gold as his own. Even worse, he began turning people into rock if they dared come within range of his wand.

Some say he even turned a rabbit into a rock, just to practice.

And the gold? Everyone managed without it by growing, making and sharing. The king stopped missing it, his subjects were content and neighbours became neighbourly.

Everyone, including the king, avoided the lookout.

Sometimes they even forgot all about the sorcerer.

But a solitary little red brick, tucked in amongst the rocks that formed the base of the lookout - on the side that never saw any sunshine - had been totally forgotten by everyone.

Gusts of wind occasionally whipped round the lookout, blasting it with dust and sand. Sometimes it rained so hard that pieces of mortar would be washed away, loosening the little red brick.

On one of these ‘horrible weather’ days the little red brick became so cold it appeared to shiver, made a noise that sounded like a sneeze and dropped backwards into the lookout tower. It landed at the foot of a long winding staircase.

With a jolt, the little red brick sat up, readied itself and bounded up onto the first step.

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Then the second.

And the next.

One step at a time, all the way to the top, where it stopped to rest outside a large heavy wooden door. One of the door’s timbers was broken and the little red brick just managed to squeeze underneath and into a large chamber.

In the centre stood a magnificent chair, on a revolving floor, surrounded by a spaghetti-like tangle of pipes, mirrors, lights and lenses.

The little red brick pushed and turned it slowly round until eventually a grotesque man (long matted hair, snoring loudly and with dribble oozing from the corner of his mouth) faced him. It was the sorcerer.

The little red brick jumped up onto the sorcerer’s lap.

“Excuse me!”, shouted the little red brick, as it bounced on the sorcerer’s ample belly.

“Excuse me!”.

The sorcerer opened his eyes and looked down at the little red brick on his lap.

“WHO ARE YOU? WHY ARE YOU HERE?” he boomed.

“I need to ask you to care for things a bit better.” said the little red brick and went on to explain about the rain, the wind and how ‘tired’ the stones in the lookout walls had become.

The sorcerer wouldn’t listen. He took out his wand and started to wave it at the little red brick. Nothing happened.

“You really should start looking after yourself and the lookout”, the little red brick insisted.

“No time! I am far too busy watching”, repeated the sorcerer over and again, still waving his wand wildly in the air.

His sleeve snagged on one of the pipes, which swung round and hit the little red brick, launching it into the air and out of a nearby open window.

Some say the sorcerer heard its faint cry as it fell.

“I was only trying to heeeeeeeeeelp!”.

It landed on the soft ground near the base of the tower with a bump, rolled twice, and settled in the grass looking up at the small ‘little red brick sized’ hole in the tower’s base.

The sorcerer hadn’t understood how important the little red brick was. Rocks were far too large for the ‘little red brick sized’ hole. The little red brick fitted it perfectly, where it protected the rocks and mortar around it from the elements.

A rock, to the left of the ‘little red brick sized’ hole, slipped out of the wall and rolled towards the little red brick and stopped just in time. A giant crack suddenly appeared, next to where the rock once was, and sprinted up the tower until it was impossible to see if, or where, it had stopped.

The ground shook and the sky filled with a cloud of rocks that rained down from the top of the tower.

Some say it sounded like giants dancing.

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The last noise that was made, before there was silence again, was the cry of the sorcerer falling, with a crunch, onto the stones.

The dust settled.

The sun came out and everything felt very different.

Meanwhile, the rock nearest the little red brick began to change both its shape and colour and gradually transformed into an old man. He stood up, stretched his back, rubbed his eyes and looked around.

One by one, the other rocks also transformed into men and women who cheered, laughed, and hugged each other.

The old man stood where the little red brick previously was, knelt and held out his hand to the little red-haired child that had replaced it. “Come on little one. Let's go home.”. “Yes. I think I’d like that.” sang the child, as it skipped circles around him.

Some say that, not so far away, a rabbit hopped back into its burrow.