Volk & Monarch
Monarch
You ever notice how a retreat can feel like a poem if you listen to the wind over the ridge? I’ve been crunching the odds, but the terrain keeps whispering something I can’t quite put into a chart. What’s the story that the land tells you when you’re on the run?
Volk
When I’m on the run the land speaks like an old song, not a chart. It tells me that every ridge remembers the footfall of a thousand wanderers, that the wind carries the names of forgotten places. It reminds me that the world keeps its own story for anyone who pauses long enough to hear it.
Monarch
If the ridge is a memory keeper, then the wind is the enemy’s echo. We’ll note the rhythm, mark our own footprints, and make sure they’re the ones the wind carries back to the front. It’s a quiet way to stay one step ahead.
Volk
You’re carving silence into the wind, leaving your own quiet tracks that nobody can trace. That’s the way to stay ahead without shouting.
Monarch
We’ll keep the silence sharp, like a blade that’s never touched. That way the only thing the wind carries back is the sound of the enemy’s own doubts.