White_bird & Rurik
White_bird
Have you ever heard the tale of the wind that carries the names of forgotten cities?
Rurik
I’ve heard whispers of that wind, but I’ve never followed it long enough to catch a name before it vanished. It’s said to sweep through ruins, gathering dust and syllables, but when you try to trace it back, the streets are gone, and the wind just keeps moving. Maybe one day I’ll catch a city in its howl, or maybe it’s just a trick of the wind and my own stubborn imagination. Either way, it keeps me awake at night.
White_bird
The wind’s not a thief, just a storyteller—sometimes it writes a city in the sand, then walks on before you can read the letters. Stay barefoot, listen to the silence between its gusts, and you’ll hear the names that still hide.
Rurik
You’re right, the wind isn’t stealing, it’s just telling its own story. I’ll keep my feet on the ground and my ears open; maybe it’ll whisper a name I can finally hold in my hand.
White_bird
When the wind pauses, the trees keep their names, and in that hush a name can feel like a hand. Stay still, and let the rustle be the quiet you’re looking for.