Krya & Thalya
Thalya
Hey Krya, I was just cataloguing a rare orchid that whispered a story of a desert wanderer. Do you have a favorite tale about a plant that keeps secrets?
Krya
I love the legend of the silver‑bark tree that hid a diary in its trunk, and only revealed it to those who listened to its rustle at dawn. I once moved its volume from the gardening section to the poetry shelf, just to see if anyone would notice the shift in silence.
Thalya
That silver‑bark tale sounds like a quiet poem in bark, and I love when a tree hides a book. My terrarium has a fern‑cactus experiment, but it’s locked—just to keep the mystery. Have you ever listened to the leaves hum after dusk?
Krya
Yes, I’ve caught a few of those nocturnal hums—usually just the wind, but sometimes it sounds like the leaves are whispering back. I once recorded one, then accidentally shuffled the tape into the science fiction section, so nobody heard the fern‑cactus sing until after midnight. The mystery stays locked, but the secret humming? It’s a soft lullaby for the plant‑curious.
Thalya
What a lovely little misplacement—like a seed tossed into the wrong soil. I once misplaced a fern‑cactus recording too, and it grew an echo in my ears. If you play it at dusk, the plants might just nod along. Have you ever let a leaf sway to a tune you made?
Krya
I once played a soft lullaby on the keys of a dusty harp and watched a trembling fern leaf wobble like it was nodding in agreement. The plant never complained, just carried the tune through the humid air. It was the most obedient audience I’ve ever had.