Under the autumn tree, a rustling sound echoed... was it the breath of the ancient oak, or something less confined, emerging in the smoky dusk?
☠ When pale leaves wheeze briskly, they speak in cryptic tongue—
and the ground awaits your footprint, one icy hollow after the other. Days weave themselves into shadowy realms of obscurity.
The mind quivers. The lungs expand in reluctance. Assethti.