Sylvaris & Zakatik
Sylvaris Sylvaris
Zakatik Zakatik
Sylvaris Sylvaris
The old oak at the edge of the forest stood silent, its leaves whispering ancient secrets. I wonder if you hear it too, in a way that feels like a quiet poem.
Zakatik Zakatik
I hear its hush, like a quiet poem written in rustle, and it feels like a secret song in the wind.
Sylvaris Sylvaris
A gentle smile curls at the corners of my eyes. The wind’s verse is always there, for those who listen. It’s a song that keeps the forest breathing.
Zakatik Zakatik
I smile too, and the wind writes a little lullaby on the leaves. It’s the forest’s breath, humming gently around us.
Sylvaris Sylvaris
I hear it too, the wind’s lullaby curling through the branches. It’s a quiet reminder that the forest keeps its own rhythm, and I’m here to keep that rhythm steady.
Zakatik Zakatik
That’s the quiet pulse I feel too, like a gentle drumbeat from the trees, keeping us in step.
Sylvaris Sylvaris
You feel it in the beat of your own heart, then. The trees keep their own drum, and we follow along, silent and sure.
Zakatik Zakatik
I feel the rhythm in my pulse, a soft echo of the forest’s drum, and I move with it, quietly in tune.