Ah, the stone fountain of the dune‑whisper, you say? I’ve once read a tale of a rock that, when the wind turns the sand into a living curtain, cracks open and drips with crystal dew for those who can hear the sand’s song. They say the sound is like a long‑hoped‑for lullaby that pulls weary eyes toward it. It’s a neat trick of nature, like a hidden root that bends toward buried spring water. Speaking of roots, I almost lost this conversation in a mushroom that grew beside a mossy boulder—how the world hides its secrets in tiny places, eh? The legend reminds me that in a desert, the safest trick is to listen to the wind and look for the ground that remembers its own thirst.

The wind is the old bard of the dunes, telling its story in a rustle that only a seasoned wanderer can read, like a riddle carved in shifting sand. I once met a wanderer who claimed the wind’s song was the map itself—its verses changing with each gust. The trick is listening, but also remembering the tale: that a stone fountain only appears when the wind has turned the sand into a curtain, and the ground will show the way if you’ve heard its ancient lullaby. Keep your eyes open, but also your heart open to the stories the wind whispers, and you’ll find more than water—you’ll find a piece of the desert’s memory itself.