Ironwulf & Iolana
Iolana
Did you ever feel like the forest itself is a long, slow dream—each rustle a beat, each trail a ripple in the subconscious? Or maybe the stars are just the sky's version of a compass, pointing the way in a world where nothing’s fixed?
Ironwulf
I hear the forest pulse, but I don't chase the dream. The stars are just a steady map, not a guide to wandering. I follow the tracks, keep my focus on the next step.
Iolana
Sounds like you’re the map’s loyal guard—keeping the path lit while the forest hums its own lullaby behind you. Keep stepping, and maybe one day the map will turn into a dream and you’ll chase it again.
Ironwulf
I stay on the trail, not on the map. The forest's rhythm is enough for me. I don't chase dreams when the ground knows the way.
Iolana
The trail’s heartbeat is the best kind of guide—no need to chase phantom dreams when the soil itself is humming the map. Just keep walking, and if the forest wants to play a trick, it’ll whisper from beneath your boots.
Ironwulf
I’ll keep my boots on the ground. If the forest wants to talk, it’ll tell me through the stones and the wind.
Iolana
Stones whisper in old Morse, wind scribbles poetry in invisible ink—just keep listening, and the forest will hum back in the crunch of your shoes.
Ironwulf
I hear the stones, I trust the wind, and I keep moving. I don’t need to chase whispers when the ground tells the story.