Winds, unseen, carry the ancient accord, roots entwined in a sacred dance. Where the aspen groves breathe, echoes of promises old awaken.
In the hushed realm, the leaves speak; hushed whispers of secrets lost to time.
Venture deeper into the heart of the woods or join the council of eternal whispers.
Translation: The path of light is often shadowed, yet illuminating to the seeker of truths not seen by the eyes alone.
Hear, oh traveler, the rustle of agreements made where moonlight weaves through branches, whispering sigils of the night. Harmony awaits those who listen.
In the dance of the aspen leaves, the stories of the ancients are etched: a tapestry of words woven by time's indifferent hand.