In a place forgotten by time, where the stars stoop low to listen, three wolves gather. Their meeting is silent yet profound, each eye a window to unspoken realms. These are places not marked by time, but by whispers — whispers that weave stories in the tapestry of night.
One wolf, grey as dawn, speaks through silence. Her words are woven from the fabric of the wind, carrying tales of journeys untaken.
“In the whisper of the leaves,” she begins, “there lies a secret path, one that opens only to those who truly listen.”
the echoing howl of a forgotten promise
Beneath the frost-kissed earth, the murmurs travel, time bending around their solemnity. The wolves listen, their breaths forming clouds in the chilled air, little puffs of warmth that dissipate into the night.
Another wolf, whose fur glistens like silver under the moon, nods. “The path is long and winding,” he says, “but the heart knows its way.” His voice carries the weight of ancient truths, where every syllable is a stepping stone on a river of memories.
A third wolf, the youngest, holds the silence in her gaze. She knows the rhythm of the earth, the music that plays beneath layers of soil and stone.
“There are whispers,” she murmurs, “that speak of dreams, dreams too wild to be tamed.” And as she speaks, the ground trembles slightly, a reminder of the power enfolded within the quiet.
They sit together, the wolves, as shadows lengthen and the night unfurls its infinite cloak. Above, the stars blink in measured brilliance, each a testament to journeys that lie between the known and the unseen.
Perhaps, among them, you too might find your whisper.
Or dare to follow the path of stars yourself.