Time meanders like the soothing river, carrying reflections of untold stories, woven in the gauze of twilight whispers. They murmur, they echo, across the valley of echoes.
As the shadow extends its silent embrace, forms dissolve into mere silhouettes: a nod, a gesture, then beyond them the forgotten relic whispers too.
Does the path remember, wandering soul? Or do we, while adventuring 'neath the canopy of stars, merely etch our presence in the fleeting sands of the hourglass?