In the quiet tapestry of dusk, where stars form soft caresses, a myth was woven. Echoes sculpted from forgotten heights, tracing breaths of ancient giants. Here, in the cradle of soft whispers, creation sighed.
The mountains hummed, stones cradled in eternal lullabies, stretching their hands across the clay sky, bridging gaps with threads spun from night's fabric. The heavens, an open canvas, painted in touches of solitude and time’s embrace.
“Listen,” the winds said, “to the symphony of silence. The echoes compose the story of every breath, a song born of the heights, myth upon whisper.”
As stars winked into existence, the hills stood vigilant, guardians of a tale unfurling in the clasp of dawn, a horizon that danced with the promise of new echoes.
Wander into the Light