Rumor unfolded gently beneath spread fingers, a story almost at home in dim-lit taverns. "Keep away from the ridge, where the winds hum tangles-like curses," they said. But curiosity never burned brighter on such simple advice.
The sun curled near setting, spilling sanguine light over sparsely populated hills where I touched unfamiliar soil. Each step resonated beneath a whispering shadow, the earth pulsating in patterns less land, more some kind of timeless ocean.
Eyes couldn't close without ache borne of radiant complexity surrounding my gaze. A spiral, an illusion perhaps, sang. Standing unclaimed anchored between edges of worlds. Threads. Worlds.
Conversations slipped as occasional visits. No destination firm, only wandering machinery within thought as I ponder anomalies not acknowledged on paper maps.
The spiral shifted like a living breath. Could it enfold me in lessons unheard or possibilities dim in mere silence? Weaving strange patterns, all I could do was listen through patient heartbeats.