Follow the shadows of forgotten dew, tracing steps only shadows remember. Begin by the third stone beyond the gentle brook; do not count twice, for time holds no significance here. When the silent wind beckons, turn left where the path widens to meet the old oak's gaze. Speak to the leaves, whose whispers are but echoes of untold stories, and listen closely to the silence that follows.
Should you encounter the circle of stones clasping the sky, pause only to bow in recognition. The circle holds its own secrets—a map drawn not in ink but in the patterns of light weaving through branches. Trust not the sun’s position; it is a mere illusion, a game played by the garden itself.
Proceed to Murmured Paths Cross Over to Shadows Danced