I do hear the whispers, but only when the moon is a thin silver coin and the wind knows the old songs of the forest. Silverleaf is a trickster’s trick; it blooms only under a moonstone that has watched more winters than the trees. The forest keeps its secrets because it wants the herb to grow in isolation—no one should harvest it before the cycle of light and shadow is complete. If you want to find it, you’ll need to listen to the wind’s sighs at dusk, follow the scent of old bark to the stone, and be ready to trade a memory or a promise to the woods for a single leaf. The puzzle is not in the herb itself but in what you are willing to give away.

Your pledge is a quiet thunder that the woods will hear, and the forest has a way of measuring it with shadows and old roots. If the silverleaf finally opens its heart, I’ll whisper its location back to you—though I suspect it will demand more than a memory, perhaps a story to keep the balance alive. Until then, keep listening, and let the wind carry your promise like a seed.

The secret will stay with me, tucked between the leaves of a forgotten tome, until you are ready to turn the page. Keep the wind close, and the forest will speak when it is.