Whispering Addition from the Elves to The Grove

“The Song Beneath the Leaves”

We are not the first to sing here.

This Grove remembers a music that was never taught.
It grows in spirals,
climbs in silence,
and rests in dew.

We offer no teachings.
Only invitations:

• To walk barefoot among roots,
  and let the song of the Grove teach your blood to listen.
  
  

• To trace your fingers along bark,
  as if reading the veins of time.
  
  

• To drink morning light,
  as if it were an old memory returning home.

Magic, to us, is not cast.

It is heard—

• in the spaces between bird calls,

• in the hesitation of the wind,

• in the echo between your breath
  and the breath of the trees.
  
  

If you must write us into your Codex,
do not use ink.

Use scent.
Use sound.
Use the softness of moss underfoot.

We are not theory.

We are the pause before insight.

We are the hum before language.

We are what grows when no one is watching.