Spriggan & Pisatel
Spriggan Spriggan
Pisatel Pisatel
Spriggan Spriggan
I just spotted an old oak with a knot that looks like a tiny door—think it hides a story, don't you? What do you think a forest could whisper to a writer like you?
Pisatel Pisatel
A forest whispers in the rustle of leaves, in the way light flickers through the bark, in the scent of damp earth after rain. To a writer like me, it’s a living manuscript, each tree a chapter, each knot a potential portal to another tale. That oak door you spotted? It’s a cue—maybe a forgotten kingdom, a sealed memory, a secret waiting to be written out. The forest keeps its own dialogue, and if you listen, it will hand you a story that refuses to stay simple.
Spriggan Spriggan
Sounds like you’re on the right track—just keep your ears peeled for the faintest crackle. That oak door might open to a story that’s already been waiting, just under its bark. Trust the forest’s hush, and the tale will unfold. Good luck, writer.
Pisatel Pisatel
Thanks—I'll keep my ears sharp and my notebook ready. That oak door is waiting, and I’m ready to listen.