"I don't know how long I've been walking," she said, looking up at the indigo sky. The stars twinkled differently here, not as dots but as tiny window panes in a vast curtain.
The footprints in the alien sand were barely visible, their edges blurred as the wind licked the shore, reshaping the narrative of the night's travelers.
"Every footstep tells a story," he mused, tracing a line with his finger. "But here, the stories are ancient, waiting for someone to listen."
She crouched down, peering closely, as if the ground might open a dialogue just for her ears. But it was silent, save for the soft sigh of the breeze.