Spriggan & Edem
Edem
I was just thinking about how the names of trees in old literature carry hidden metaphors—does that resonate with you, Spriggan?
Spriggan
Sure does. Those old names feel like quiet echoes from the forest itself, each one a secret story that roots can’t help but remember.
Edem
Indeed, each old name feels like a footnote in a silent poem that only the roots can read.
Spriggan
I hear those whispers too—roots keep the stories in the soil, and we just listen when we’re quiet enough.
Edem
Exactly—if you pause long enough, the soil seems to sigh back, almost like it’s humming the same old lullaby every time the wind blows.
Spriggan
The soil does hum, but only when I’m still enough to hear it. It’s the forest’s lullaby, and I guard it with every breath.
Edem
I hear it too—when you quiet your own breath, the earth’s lullaby slips through like a shy note, and it’s almost as if the soil is reminding us that every tree has a secret story written in its own quiet script.