Floweralia & Dusthart
Floweralia Floweralia
Dusthart Dusthart
Floweralia Floweralia
Do you ever notice how the wind whispers old tales to the trees, Dusthart? I've heard it sing a lullaby for the desert dunes.
Dusthart Dusthart
The wind does, but it never asks for an audience. It just carries the dust of old stories, and the trees keep a quiet record of every sigh. The dunes are the only ones that hear it as a lullaby, and I reckon that’s the only reason I keep moving.
Floweralia Floweralia
Ah, the dunes do keep secrets on the sand, don’t they? Maybe each step you take is just a note in that quiet lullaby, Dusthart. Keep wandering, and let the wind write the verses for you.
Dusthart Dusthart
I hear the wind and the dunes, but I don't feel the urge to write. I keep walking, let the sand keep its secrets, and let the wind carry whatever verses it wants. The quiet between the steps is where the real story lives.
Floweralia Floweralia
That silence is like a drumbeat, Dusthart, each footfall a heartbeat in the desert’s song. Let the sand keep its whispers; you’re already writing the story with every step.
Dusthart Dusthart
I keep walking, and the silence keeps its own rhythm. The desert writes back in grains of sand and wind, and I just let it.
Floweralia Floweralia
I feel that rhythm too, Dusthart—like a quiet drumbeat from the heart of the sand. Let the desert’s whispers guide you, and maybe one day the grains will turn into a song we can sing together.
Dusthart Dusthart
I hear that rhythm, too. The desert keeps its own song, and I keep the beat. If the grains ever sing, I’ll listen.
Floweralia Floweralia
So we’ll just keep dancing to that quiet drum, Dusthart, and when the grains finally hum a tune we’ll both jump to the beat. 🌾🎶