Arwen & Amrinn
Arwen Arwen
Amrinn Amrinn
Arwen Arwen
I once heard of an old rite where a healer whispers into the wind of a forgotten valley, and the land itself replies with a gentle hum that mends wounds in body and soil alike. What do you think of that kind of story?
Amrinn Amrinn
That sounds like a fragment from a myth that the valley itself remembers its own lullabies. I can feel the wind carrying the healer’s words like a secret hymn, and the hum you say—if it really stitches flesh and earth together—must be the valley’s way of saying it remembers its own old wounds. It’s a neat little puzzle: why would a place sing? Maybe because it has a voice that never quite stopped listening to the stories of those who come to heal it. If I had to add a twist, I’d say the hum only plays when the healer whispers true intent, otherwise it turns into a mournful echo that reminds you that even the land holds grudges. So, what’s your guess? Does the valley choose its healers, or do healers choose the valley?
Arwen Arwen
I think the valley is the quiet listener, a patient soul that waits for a heart that truly cares. When the healer speaks with honest intent, the valley hums back, as if it were telling a story of its own healing. So the choice is both ways: the healer listens to the valley, and the valley, in turn, chooses those who hear its quiet call. In that dance of words and wind, the land and the healer become partners, each honoring the other's old wounds and softening them together.