In the alchemy of silence, a land unspoken persists,
drawn not in ink but in the heart's echo.
Westward lie the valleys of acquiescence,
where whispers of the wind detail one's consent.

We traverse the Mapless Woods,
where verdant trees are sentinels of forgotten dreams.
Their leaves murmur tales of far away shores,
and the roots grip tightly the memory of starlight.

Here, the sky bows low over the Lost Plains,
each droplet of dew a universe's future,
as the horizon quivers with the song of a thousand breaths,
harmonizing secretly in tandem with the heavens.

Upon the Still Streams, reflections writhe in tranquility,
revealing no destination, only the journey within.
To navigate these waters is to disregard the flow,
and heed instead the rhythm of the earth's pulse.