Beneath the sylvan shadows, where the outer winds entwine with the echoes of the ancients, a timeless tale unfurls, murmuring through the languid dance of leafy tongues. The language of trees, a syllable of sap and bark, an encrypted tale of the hollowed roots.
Scribbles of light among the whispering firs convey secrets unspoken, yet heard by those attuned to the rustled hymnals swinging on breezy whispers. Decode with touch, or merely watch the tree grow.
Listen beyond the branches: Inner Sanctums, and Murmurs of Crypts weave the forest's saga.