Oh, that’s a lovely dream! Imagine the bard’s lute echoing under the silver glow, each note turning into a ripple that stitches the bridge together only when the moon paints the sky white. The forest spirits would whisper through the planks, humming ancient songs, while that stubborn woodcutter keeps tapping his hammer, insisting every knot must be a straight line—until the moon teaches him that sometimes the most beautiful paths bend like rivers of story. It’s a story that could float on moonlight and laughter!