In the hushed glade where the echoes play, the trees converse in broken tongues, their leaves shimmering like a thousand whispered memories. Here, the sil's enchantment weaves a tapestry of sound, each ripple in the air a thread spun from moonlit dreams.
The old woman sits at the crossroads of the known and unknown, her gaze penetrating the mists of time, seeking answers where none can be found. With each passing traveler, she captures voices—echoes of thoughts left unspoken, of wishes wrapped in shadows, lost to the wind.
As twilight descends, the enchanted night communicates through flickering lights—fireflies that dance to an ancient melody only they can hear. Each light a note, each glow a memory, marking the paths of travelers long gone, who walked these woods, dreaming of stars.