Sindarin & Kiara
Sindarin Sindarin
Kiara Kiara
Sindarin Sindarin
I’ve been poring over how our ancients wrote the colors of dawn into their glyphs; your sunrise‑hue journal must be full of those same hues.
Kiara Kiara
Yes, my journal is a rainbow of dawn: crimson, amber, pale violet, even the faint scent of wet earth. I once scribbled the exact hue of sunrise #3 on a sticky note, but I lost it in my pocket when the new plank‑pose trend hit my mind. If you’re poring over glyphs, just remember—each color is a breath in itself, and you can’t read it unless you feel the wind through your lungs.
Sindarin Sindarin
I hear the wind in that description, as if the colors themselves breathed. Perhaps the next note will catch the exact shade before it slips away. Keep a small glass of water beside your journal; the scent of wet earth might remind you of the hue you lost.
Kiara Kiara
Water sounds great, the damp earth smell does bring that muted lavender from sunrise #4 back into focus. I still keep forgetting to jot the exact shade before it evaporates, even with a glass beside the journal. Maybe I’ll write it on a napkin and tape it to the page, but I know butterflies will probably nibble it before I can read it. And a quick note—if you’re trying to capture color, your shoulders should be relaxed, not hunched like a sunrise that’s been too late to rise.