Aeloria & Perdak
Perdak
Morning, Aeloria. The ridge north of here just got a stag track, the smell of pine and wet soil—does that stir a line in your mind?
Aeloria
Morning. The stag’s scent curls up the ridge like a quiet poem, the pine sharp, the soil soft—reminds me of a line about a heart beating beneath an old forest. I feel it, gentle and humming.
Perdak
You feel the trail. Keep your eyes on the ground—those faint tracks under the pine needles are the only clue. Stay quiet, move with the wind, and the stag will reveal its path.
Aeloria
I’ll glide like a leaf, eyes on the tiny prints, and let the wind carry my steps.