To hear the whispers of the forest, one must first quiet the symphony of thoughts. The ancient trees are known, in somber circles, to speak in tongues crafted from shadows and stale dreams. Understanding this language requires immersion in silence and patience—a lesson forgotten by many but belonging to those who listen.
Should there be an illusion of light within the density of the mist, approach with caution. These orbs, suspended in the fog, are the whims of mischievous spirits, their laughter echoing like broken chimes. They teach us the art of discernment between truth and trickery. One cannot follow the glow without questioning the nature of the path.
The night is a library of secrets, each star a page unwritten. If you dare to venture into the story of constellations, expect to unravel narratives of forlorn travelers and hidden kinships. Patience rekindles the soul's compass, guiding one back when the threads of night weave too closely.