In the darkness, where whispers dance among the trees, there lies a truth untouched by time. A truth that murmurs in forgotten tongues, unraveling the fabric of dreams woven long ago.
The trees do not speak with words, but with the rustling of their leaves, a language as old as the stars that peer through the canopy. A sage once said, "In silence, the world speaks loudest." Yet, here in this grove, silence is only the beginning.
What remnants of dreams linger beneath the bark, in the sap that flows like memories of ages past? The trees remember when humans had not yet spoken their first words, when the earth was still a child in the cosmos.
Venture further, if you dare: