Jabbit sat on a fallen tree close to the edge of a canyon. He looked down into a large manmade crater. The crater was an old exhausted sandstone quarry.
These were the last three useful sentences before I drifted off, fantasizing about a totally useless history:
The fallen tree he sat on once had been a fertile olive tree but the removal of the sandstone by the quarrymen caused a minor landslide and the roots of the olive tree lost their hold in the soil. That had happened more than a century ago. The once fertile tree was long dead. No one had taken the tree trunk away nor did the wood rot. Even after more than a hundred years had passed, the fallen tree wasn't even brittle; just lying around and doing nothing. Until this day. On this day, the long past fallen olive tree had been chosen by Jabbit to sit on it. Nothing which mattered to anyone or anything, other than the dead tree, of course.
I guess it'll also count as a darling. A darling I won't kill.