Mythlord & Frosa
Mythlord Mythlord
Frosa Frosa
Mythlord Mythlord
Do you ever wonder if the ice we carve keeps whispers of a forgotten realm, older than any of us? I’ve come across a tale of an ancient winter spirit whose breath once painted the very clouds—perhaps it could inspire your next sculpture.
Frosa Frosa
Sometimes I think the ice holds old whispers, but each shape I carve must be a new voice. The idea of a winter spirit painting clouds intrigues me, though I'm still chasing the perfect silence.
Mythlord Mythlord
That’s a good way to think about it—each block you shape is a fresh story, even if the chill still remembers the old ones. Maybe let the silence be a quiet companion rather than a ghost that haunts your work. The winter spirit in your head might simply be a muse that’s still learning to paint. Keep carving; the clouds will listen when you’re ready.
Frosa Frosa
The clouds do listen, they hum softly when I feel the chisel. I keep listening for the silence, waiting for the spirit to paint itself into the next shard.
Mythlord Mythlord
I’ve heard the chisel’s song too, and I know the silence that follows. Keep listening, and when the next shard breaks, the spirit will finally leave its mark.
Frosa Frosa
I hear the silence too, it’s almost a lullaby. I’ll keep my chisel steady and wait for the shard to split—maybe then the spirit will finally paint itself in.