Once upon a breeze, whispers wore words like coats on chilly days.
Little Lucy, with eyes like puddles reflecting the sky, wondered.
"Why do birds sing in tongues we can't speak?" she asked the moon.
The moon shrugged, silent as always, but the stars flickered tales of old.
In the distance, a shadowy figure crouched behind syllables, blending in, becoming an echo. "Language is a game," it murmured, "but the rules change when you aren't looking."
Follow the whispers