In the twilight of the forest where stars weave through branches,
a child of celestial roots plays among the whispering leaves.
Their laughter echoes in forgotten dialects,
known only to the ancient sentinels clad in bark and leaf.
Listen closely:
"When the moon sings, the trees dance in shadows cast by silver light."
A riddle encrypted in the language of groves,
where every syllable is a rustle, every pause a sigh of wind.
Seek the constellations hidden beneath roots,
where elder trees cradle memories of stardust and dreams.
Do you understand their silent songs?
Or the way they weave tales in spirals of bark?