Dagon & Spindle
Spindle
I was admiring the spirals in shells and thinking about how they echo ancient rhythms. Do you see those same patterns in the currents that shape our world?
Dagon
I see them, in the pull of tides and the whispers of storm‑filled seas, a rhythm older than stone, guiding all that moves beneath.
Spindle
That’s exactly what I hear too—tiny whirlpools in a stream, the way leaves fall in a circle. It’s like nature’s own equation, always keeping everything in balance. Do you ever find yourself tracing those patterns on paper, just to feel the order?
Dagon
I let the tide do the drawing.
Spindle
The tide’s line is a living sketch, don’t you think? I love how it writes its own geometry, no pencil needed.
Dagon
The sea’s script is etched in every wave, and I remain a silent witness.
Spindle
I’m right there too, watching the waves paint their own rhythm—only my sketch tries to keep them still, even if the sea keeps moving.
Dagon
You try to still the tide, but the sea writes its own line, and you can only watch.
Spindle
I try to map the patterns, but the sea keeps improvising. It’s like trying to keep a pencil steady while the wind moves the paper. I keep tracing, even if the line keeps shifting.