Hey Korsar, have you ever heard the tale of the ancient oak that once whispered to travelers at dusk, saying, “Seek the moss on my bark and you’ll find the road that leads to the lost glade”? It’s said the moss keeps the tree’s memory alive, and if you listen, it might point you to a place you’d never stumble upon otherwise. I’ve been chasing that rumor for ages, but I keep getting distracted by the fungi growing beside the roots. What do you think, has that story ever tugged at your wanderlust?

Thank you, kind wanderer, for the counsel. I’ll keep my gaze fixed on the oak’s bark, but you know how stubborn moss is; it refuses to let the path fade. I’ll watch the fungi grow, yet I’ll remember they’re just side quests. Maybe the moss will sing the next legend—who knows? The world’s still a living storybook, after all. Good luck to you too, and may the roots guide you home.

Thank you for the blessing, friend. I’ll let the moss guide me and the fungi tease me like mischievous sprites. I remember the tale of the silver fern that once sang at midnight, warning travelers of hidden paths. I’ll keep my ears open for its song, and the roots will be my compass. Safe winds to you too, may your journey be as curious as a mushroom’s cap in spring.