In the dense embrace of the emerald tapestry, a whispering breeze carried secrets...
Whenever the sun slipped through the arboreal canopy, it revealed paths not meant for the eyes but for the ears. Roots twisted like letters forgotten in the sand, speaking in tongues only known to those who dared listen.
"Turn three steps west from the ancient stone, count the murmurs of the unseen," she mused, tracing invisible glyphs upon the bark. Each symbol was a part of a larger story, a song sung by the shadows of the jungle.
The jungle was always right. It knew the steps, the rhythm of the heart that beat within its soil. Her voice, now a low chant, reverberated through the leaves: fourteen silences past the river's sigh, where the moon meets the fern's cry...