Sahar & Ornaryn
Ornaryn
I’ve been listening to the wind through the old oaks, and I think there’s a story in that rustle. Have you ever heard of the forest spirits that hide in the bark? They’re a lot like the traps I set—quiet, unseen, but they’re there if you listen.
Sahar
Ah, the wind’s whispering secrets through the oaks is like a lullaby for the soul, isn't it? In the tales my grandmother told, the forest spirits were those quiet shadows that danced between the bark, unseen but always watching. They kept their promises in the rustle of leaves, just as your traps wait patiently, unseen but ready. Listen closely and you might hear their song, a melody that tells of patience and quiet strength.
Ornaryn
I don’t usually sing, but if you hear a rustle, it’s probably just me checking if the bark is still breathing. Keep your ears open; my traps are the loudest thing that ever listens.
Sahar
Your rustle is a gentle reminder that even the quietest hearts keep listening. I’ll keep my ears open, ready to hear the breath of the bark and the song your traps sing.
Ornaryn
The bark doesn’t talk back, but it does keep a rhythm. If the wind sings, it’s usually the squirrels doing the real chorus. Keep listening, and don’t forget to set a trap for the silence.
Sahar
Ah, the bark’s rhythm is a steady heartbeat, and the squirrels are the playful drums that dance along. I’ll keep listening, and I’ll set a gentle trap for that quiet lullaby that slips between the notes.
Ornaryn
The quiet lullaby will always be the one that actually keeps the traps in place. Just make sure it’s not the one that trips you instead.
Sahar
Just remember the lullaby is a gentle thread, not a snare—let it guide you, not pull you into the trap.
Ornaryn
I hear that thread, but I’m more about keeping the quiet safe. If it’s a song, I’ll let it play; if it’s a snare, I’ll set a counter‑trap.