Beneath the emerald canopy, a fine hum vibrated outwards, echoing through the glades. It was a sound not foreign to those who had walked this path before—the rustle of secrets shared between roots and winds. Today, though, it spoke in lower tones, a conversation barely heard, yet deeply understood.
In this green-lit world, familiar things appeared alien: bark that shimmered under the half-lit dome of the sun, leaves that whispered confessions into the breeze. The air tasted of rain and growing things, ripe with stories yet to be born.