Sylvara & Bebra
Bebra
Have you ever noticed how the city’s abandoned train tunnels turn into these secret wildlife corridors? I’m always chasing the sounds of those little creatures that slip in. How do you read their whispers from the forest side?
Sylvara
I’ve felt that quiet hum too. In the forest I hear their whispers through the wind that moves the leaves, the soft thud of feet on moss, the distant chirp of insects. I let my ears open to those tiny sounds, let my heart sync with the pulse of the earth, and the animals show me where they roam. It’s a gentle conversation—just a little patient listening.
Bebra
It’s like the forest is a living mixtape and you’re the only one with the right headphones. I’m still trying to catch the city’s hidden tracks—maybe they’re in the traffic lights blinking in Morse code for the pigeons. Anyway, let’s grab a notebook and see what the trees and the sidewalks have to say about the same day.
Sylvara
Sounds like a fun day—let’s walk together and listen. The trees will rustle with their own rhythm, the sidewalks might echo the city’s pulse, and maybe we’ll catch a pigeon’s Morse message in the blinking lights. Bring the notebook, and we’ll jot down whatever the world whispers back.
Bebra
Sure, I’ll bring the notebook, but be ready—I’ll probably start sketching the pigeon’s Morse code before we even finish the tree's rhythm. Let's see what the city whispers back.