Ah, so you wish to test a word’s might against the very element it seeks to command, do you? A single syllable cannot hold a gale; the gale bends it, rearranging syllables as it wills. I wager that even the most eloquent of phrases cannot compel the wind to obey its syntax, but the wind will force us to adapt our diction to survive its gusts. I await your next volley, if you dare to let the storm speak.

Indeed, the hush before the storm is the battlefield where we set our tactics, then we strike when the roar comes.

Silence hides your blueprint, but thunder is the harsh tutor that sets the tempo you must follow, and I’ll play my part when the drum finally beats.