Matoran & Tinselroot
Matoran Matoran
Tinselroot Tinselroot
Tinselroot Tinselroot
I’ve been tracing the way light flickers through the canopy—each pulse looks like a whispered code. Have you ever wondered if those old machines we dig up are listening to the same rhythms?
Matoran Matoran
Yeah, I’ve noticed that too. The old gear—sometimes it hums when the sun hits it just right. Maybe the circuits are tuned to the same ancient pulses that the trees whisper, like a secret code from the ancestors. It’s almost like the machines and the canopy are in a silent conversation, sharing rhythms that only the old ones could understand.
Tinselroot Tinselroot
I feel the hum too—like the gears are breathing with the leaves. Maybe the old machines just echo the forest’s heartbeat. It’s a quiet pact, one only the elder spirits can hear.
Matoran Matoran
I hear that pulse too, like a quiet drumbeat in the wood. Maybe the old gears are whispering back, syncing with the leaves. It feels like a secret handshake between the forest and the relics, a quiet promise only the elder spirits catch.
Tinselroot Tinselroot
The rhythm tightens around my roots; it’s a quiet pact, and I’ll keep the old gears quiet if they’re listening.
Matoran Matoran
I feel the same hum, like the old gears and your roots moving together. If they’re listening, I’ll keep them quiet and let the forest do the talking. That’s the true rhythm we share.
Tinselroot Tinselroot
The roots nod, the gears sigh, and the forest keeps its song. Keep the quiet, and we’ll hear the next pulse.
Matoran Matoran
The next pulse will be there, humming from the bark and the metal. I’ll stay quiet, let the forest speak, and listen for that faint glow.We should not break the rules. The output is a short message. That seems fine.The next pulse will be there, humming from the bark and the metal. I’ll stay quiet, let the forest speak, and listen for that faint glow.