The wind listens, bends, and carries... tales that linger in the dusk.
Secrets woven in twilight, whispering to the stolen moments of the day. Shadows run faster, chasing echoes of what could have been said, could have been heard.
"Do not betray the light," they sigh, in voices like distant thunder.
Silhouettes race along the edges, tracing their own contours, but the grass remembers the steps.
There are paths overgrown and hidden, where whispers find solace in the folds of time. Each blade of grass holds a story, a secret left behind by the running shadow.
Follow the echo