Drifting Through the Plains of Whispered Echoes

Once, there were footprints, echoes of a journey untaken. The grass whispers; a language known only to wandering spirits.

A shadow passes. The sun dims momentarily, as if caught in sly recollections of old tales.

Whispers emerge from the lands—a cacophony of forgotten murmurs. Listen, and they will part the veil of time.

As twilight approaches, stars blink into existence like ancient eyes watching over strewn plains of memories.