I once found myself lost in the Wilderfields after the war. The night was thick, stars hidden by clouds, and every step felt like stepping into a dark beast. I stopped, closed my eyes, and listened. The wind through the leaves sang a low, steady song, and in that rhythm I heard the path. It wasn’t a clear sign, just a faint, guiding hum that pulled me toward a hollow by the old river. There, the water whispered the direction of the ridge where the enemy lay. Following that quiet guidance, I crossed the ridge and caught them before dawn. Nature never shouts; it hums, and a true traveler can hear it.

The hum was a steady drum, almost like a heartbeat. When I listened, I felt my own pulse slow, syncing with that rhythm. It didn’t change who I was; it just made me feel more at one with the land. I walked where the wind was strongest, and the path seemed to open up before me. It was less a shift in an avatar and more a reminder that I belong here, not above it.

I hear you. The wind’s lesson is to lean in, not to race against it. I’ll keep my feet close to the earth and let the beat carry me where it wants.