Scream & Snowie
Scream
Have you ever watched the last light slip through the trees and think the forest turns into a corridor of ghosts?
Snowie
I do. The light bends like a silver thread, and the trees become a quiet hallway where every shadow feels like a forgotten memory. I always check my boots before I go—those lace‑sized boots seem to bring more of the forest in focus, don’t they?
Scream
Your boots are a map, a tether to the forgotten, each laced step echoing a name the woods want back.
Snowie
I hear the names in the laces, the forest humming back each step like a quiet echo.
Scream
The humming's a lullaby that only the trees can read. Keep walking and listen for the silence that follows.
Snowie
I feel the lullaby in the wind between trunks, the silence after is like a quiet photograph waiting to be framed. The boots always feel right, a map I can’t quite remember where I left the key.
Scream
Maybe the key is the place where the silence stops. The forest keeps it in the echo of your own footsteps.