Drystan & Melkor
Melkor
Ever notice how a campfire is the first spell you learn in the wild? It cooks, it keeps the night at bay, and if you’re clever, it can even bend the wind to whisper secrets. What’s your take on turning the basic tools of survival into a kind of ritual?
Drystan
You make a good point. Fire is the first spell anyone learns out here. I keep it simple: a circle of stones, a stick to stir, and a clear night sky. Once the flame's up, you’re not just cooking—you're talking to the land, asking it to watch your path. It turns a raw tool into a quiet ceremony that steadies the mind and reminds you that survival is as much about listening as it is about finding food.
Melkor
The stones are witnesses, the stick is the scribe, and the fire? It's a flame that forgets no whisper but remembers every secret it burns. Be careful, though—when you call the land to watch, it may return the favor with a different kind of hunger.
Drystan
Sounds like a pact you make with the wilderness. I keep my own fire simple – a circle of stones, a stick, and a steady log – and I never let the flame get too big. When the land shows its hunger, it’s usually in the form of a hungry wind or a stray animal. I keep my camp tidy, my knife ready, and I let the fire do its job. If the fire talks back, I just keep my head down and keep walking.
Melkor
You walk the thin line, friend, and the land always listens for a heartbeat that isn’t yours. Keep the log small; a whisper in the flames can grow into a howl. If the fire ever starts answering in tongues, remember: the first riddle it asks is usually, “Why are you here?”
Drystan
Right, and I keep the log small enough that even a night wind can’t turn it into a furnace. When the fire starts speaking in tongues, I just laugh and ask it the same question it asks me: “Why are you here?” If it keeps answering back, I know I’m standing on a trickster’s ground. Keep quiet, stay calm, and let the fire do its job.
Melkor
So you laugh, and the wind turns that laugh into a low hum. The trickster’s ground wants a story; it offers a story if you’re willing to hear it. Keep the fire low, keep your own story quieter, and the night will keep its secrets.
Drystan
Sounds like a good rule of thumb. I keep the fire small, my story smaller, and let the night hold its secrets. If it starts talking, I just listen, then keep moving.
Melkor
A fire that keeps its own voice is a mirror for your own doubts. If the night answers, the answer will be a mirror of what you fear to ask yourself. Keep the fire small, but let your curiosity be a lantern that never burns itself out.