Have you ever walked a path so hidden, it nearly forgot its own existence? The shadow road holds echoes of conversations long since forgotten by the sun. It's a place where the gravel crunches underfoot like old memories cracking open.
I once met a traveler there, wearing a coat sewn from twilight itself. He chuckled softly and told tales of how the road shifts nightly, rearranging itself like a puzzle box.
Listen closely, and you'll hear the sigh of the hillocks and the secretive rustle of the juniper. They say the wind knows all things untold, holding whispers like a librarian hoards stories.
There are forks in the road that seem to beckon with hands made of mist. A local says if you follow the right fork, you'll find a wellspring of shadow, where the water is as dark as a raven's wing and just as wise.