Taloned Sift
"The sand was singing beneath her feet," murmured the weaver to no one in particular, his fingers lost in the unseen strands of fate.
"But what if the shadows speak back?" asked a voice, young yet ancient, echoing against crimson horizons.
The old keeper chuckled, "You'll find answers buried in the talons of the wind."
"This isn't a game," whispered the figure in the dusk, their gaze piercing through the haze of secrets.
The clock, ticking in a room long forgotten, began to hum a tune no ear had heard for centuries.