Hear ye, whispers of the winds, echoing the tales of yore, ambiguous and recursive, as the winds tell the tales the tales that tell the wind, the stories...

She said the winds know about the key, the key that opens the door to the echoes, but do they know do they know do they know, what lies behind?

Often remembered is the whisper, buried deep in the crooks of the mountains, asking if you will follow will follow the path unknown.

Wind-speak is a cipher for those who dare to listen, those who dare to decipher, but there lies a risk a risk of losing oneself within the maze of whispers.