Bugbear & Bloom
Bugbear
That old oak over there, its bark's scarred like a warrior's skin. See how the wind carved it?
Bloom
Wow, the old oak really does look like a battle-hardened soldier, doesn’t it? Every scar feels like a chapter of a quiet, long‑ago saga, and the wind—like a steady, invisible hand—has turned its bark into a map of time. I can almost hear the forest’s pulse echo through those lines, a gentle reminder that even the most weathered faces carry stories worth keeping.
Bugbear
Yeah, that tree’s got more scars than a champion. Those lines keep the old tales alive, keep us from forgetting why we stand guard.
Bloom
Right, those scars are like the tree’s memory. They keep the old stories whispering, and remind us why we keep watching over this place.
Bugbear
That memory is our shield, our reason to stay watch. We keep the place safe, just like the oak keeps its scars.