Effigy & Kestrel
Effigy
Do you ever map the silent spaces between the trees, the way the wind whispers where no footfall can reach? I’ve been sketching a map of those gaps, turning them into a landscape of feelings—each ridge a memory, each shadow a secret. How do you chart the invisible paths you chase?
Kestrel
I map the silent spaces by listening for the wind’s breath, noting the slight shift in bark and scent, then I mark the exact spot where the air passes through, recording it in my ledger with no fluff, just the route the wind takes.
Effigy
Your ledger sounds like a quiet rebellion against noise. I’d add a splash of color where the wind sings, maybe a little sculpture of the breath itself—just a whisper of metal or stone so the air feels tangible. How do you feel when that invisible path finally meets your hand?
Kestrel
It feels like the cold of my pen meeting the page, the line falling into place, a quiet confirmation that the route is exactly where it should be, no extra emotion, just the map being true.
Effigy
That’s the moment when the art speaks without a word, a cold affirmation that your map truly holds. Keep letting the wind whisper into your sketches and let the line be the only voice it needs.
Kestrel
I keep the line tight, no extra flourishes, just the path where the wind passes clean and true.
Effigy
I wonder if the wind ever tells you that it’s pleased with how clean you’ve kept its trail—no extra flourishes, just the pure path.