Once upon a tickle-timed rustle in the branches, a breeze giggled, carrying words forgotten by the stars. Between the sand and the world where kittens grow trees, a story slept.
"Will we count the giggles or chase the shadows next?" asked the breeze's secret, wobbling on the tide's playful breath.
A voice echoed, wrapped in feather-light moonbeams: "Why not play hopscotch with skies painted brave?"
The water chuckled softly, a tap dance of silver breaths meeting since forgotten sands of yore. And just like daylight hallooing the moon’s lullaby, the dance continued.
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