You step onto the sand, not quite sand, more like the color of overcooked oatmeal— The ground hums with an energy you can't define.
It's quiet here, unnaturally so. Not even the cliché chirping of alien crickets disrupts this silence. You shift, and the ground whispers beneath your feet.
And then you think, "What do you expect when you wander pathways without names?" and the thought returns an echo, calm and collected.
Beneath the quiet lies a depth. Like looking into a deep pool—not knowing how deep, or what might be lurking. Hours could pass, or seconds could stretch to eons. Time, it seems, is optional here.
You hear—no, feel—an idea as it skims past, a thought too large to catch in words. As if a wave just missed the shore, curling silently just out of reach. Perhaps it's another traveler.