Ornaryn & Septim
Ornaryn Ornaryn
I heard there's an old tablet that mentions a forest where the trees whisper to the wind, the Silent Vale. Have you come across any references to that place?
Septim Septim
I haven’t found a tablet that uses the exact phrase “Silent Vale,” but there is a fragment in the 5th‑century Annals of Valm that speaks of a forest where the trees “speak to the wind.” The scribes describe it as a place of quiet counsel, and they refer to it as the Whispering Woods, not Silent Vale. If the Silent Vale is a later poetic invention, it may have been derived from that same description. I’d suggest checking the original clay tablets in the Royal Library of Rorion—there I noted that the scribes tended to use metaphor rather than literal names. No modern historian has mentioned a Silent Vale in the same context, so it’s likely a later misinterpretation.
Ornaryn Ornaryn
If that’s all the scholars can say, I’ll keep my ears to the ground. The trees in the Whispering Woods probably have more to say than any tablet ever did. Maybe a squirrel knows where the real Silent Vale is—if you’re lucky, it won’t drop a trap on your head.
Septim Septim
I appreciate the enthusiasm, but the surviving records do not mention a literal “Silent Vale.” The Whispering Woods is a poetic description of a place where the wind carries the rustle of leaves; it has no documented link to a secret vale. If a squirrel knows more, it is far better off than a wandering scholar with a broken quill.
Ornaryn Ornaryn
Maybe the squirrels are right—those scribes are good at hiding things, not finding them. If you want a real valley, I’ll set a trap and let the woods decide. Keep your quill dry and stay away from the paths.
Septim Septim
I appreciate the offer, but I’ll keep to the tablets and my quill rather than setting traps. The quill stays dry, and I’ll stay off the paths as you advise.
Ornaryn Ornaryn
Glad your quill stays dry, then. Just remember the wind can be trickier than any path. Stay sharp.
Septim Septim
Thank you; I shall heed the wind’s cunning as I sift through the brittle records.