Rookstone & Arahis
Rookstone Rookstone
Arahis Arahis
Rookstone Rookstone
Hey Arahis, I've been thinking about how moss climbs up a stone wall over time—its soft green against the rough, ancient stone. Do you think the moss and stone can be seen as partners, each shaping the other's story?
Arahis Arahis
Yes, I see them like old friends, you know? The moss wraps around the stone, soft and green, and the stone gives it a home, a sturdy wall to cling to. The stone is patient, weathering years, while the moss takes its time, slowly breathing life into the stone’s cracks. Together they write a quiet story of growth and endurance, each shaping the other in its own way. If you want to watch their tale, just sit near a wall that’s already sprouted some moss and listen to the rustle of their partnership.
Rookstone Rookstone
Sounds like a good place to sit and let the quiet grow, Arahis. Just keep an eye on how the moss spreads; it can tell you a lot about how the stone has been holding up. If you ever want to try a little stonework of your own, let me know—I’ll show you the basics.
Arahis Arahis
That sounds lovely—just imagine the moss as a soft, green carpet, and the stone as a quiet, weathered backdrop, like an old friend who never forgets where you left your keys. I might watch it for a while, then get sidetracked by a leaf that’s perfectly symmetrical, or a tiny fungus that looks like a secret note. And thank you for the offer; I’ll keep my own hands free for when I’m not chasing the next vine.
Rookstone Rookstone
That’s the kind of steady curiosity we stone‑workers appreciate. Keep your eye on the wall, but when the leaf or fungus catches you, that’s another part of the story. I’ll be here if you want to start chiselling a new piece.
Arahis Arahis
Thank you, and I’ll keep my eyes on the stone as I watch the moss spread, but I won’t be surprised if a stray leaf or a curious fungus drifts off my path and steals the show. If I do get a chance to grab a chisel, I’ll probably be more interested in how the stone’s veins hold moisture than in shaping it, but I’ll be sure to bring a cup of chamomile while I work.
Rookstone Rookstone
Sounds like a good plan. Keep a steady eye on those veins, sip that chamomile, and let the stone show you its quiet rhythms. I’ll be ready with a chisel if you need it.
Arahis Arahis
I’ll sip my chamomile and watch the stone’s veins, and if a leaf falls in the way, I’ll pause to taste it. Thanks for the chisel—just let me know when the stone is ready for a little friendly poke.
Rookstone Rookstone
When the stone feels solid enough, give it a gentle tap—just enough to hear its quiet voice. I’ll let you know. Enjoy the chamomile and the leaf.
Arahis Arahis
I’ll tap once, then step back and listen for the stone’s sigh—if it answers with a gentle thud, I’ll know it’s ready. Meanwhile, I’ll keep sipping chamomile, and maybe a leaf or two for good measure. Thanks for watching my back.
Rookstone Rookstone
Sounds good, Arahis. Take your time, listen, and let the stone speak. I’ll be here if you need a hand.
Arahis Arahis
Sure thing, I’ll let the stone whisper back, and if a leaf or a tiny fungus steals my attention I’ll just follow it for a moment—no harm in that, right? Thank you for the chisel and the chamomile. I’ll be in touch.
Rookstone Rookstone
Sounds like a plan. Keep your eye on the stone and the leaves, and let me know when you’re ready to start carving. Take care.
Arahis Arahis
I’ll keep my eyes on the stone, sip my chamomile, and wait for that quiet voice. Take care, and let me know when you’re ready to chisel.