mist over a forest, like the curtains hiding the magician. something, out of sight. trees will keep your secrets from others, but what one root knows, the whole forest understands. whispers tucked into rings, words woven into knots. the birds will sing it later. they lament your sadness for you, lilting and lifting your prayers into the mist with them. they speak the language of messengers, blessed with mercury's wings.
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