The forest rests, its silence heavy with strength.
Cracked bark holds the slow pulse of the earth.
Bare branches are not emptiness, but waiting.
The cold brushes against the wood, the wind whispers through its fractures.
Everything sleeps, everything hushes. And in that silence, strength remains.

Relics of the sleeping forest, fragments of a time that drifts unhurried.
Jewels carved from stillness and shadow,
like natural armor embracing the skin.