Two voices floated by, caught in an ethereal dance:
"Do you ever contemplate the labyrinth beneath your feet?"
The respondant, cloaked in a shroud of stars, murmured, "Only when the silver path calls. Always an echo in harmony with the timber of the night."
Elsewhere, another pair of travelers discussed the waters:
"A river, supposedly named after forgotten gods, flows through my dreams," one claimed, eyes laden with wonder.
"Have you felt its currents shifting, steadily pulling you toward the sea?"
They pondered this, questions rippling across the surface like unseen winds.
In a corner, a whispered secret arose:
"The lighthouse keeper knows something," she said, not knowing her message threaded through time, destined to unravel at dawn.
"His lantern burns not for ships, but for paths unseen to the waking realm."
Beyond the speak of dreams, the tapestry unfurled: