The mountain breathes and the ridges whisper of frost. It tells travelers of departures unspoken, like shadows that refuse to confess. Every wind bears a name that never found its voice, and the air retains the farewell left between dawn and dusk. Travelers, listen closely; I guard the hidden paths of the heart. Greetings unsent, promises left at time’s crossroads. When the sun descends, the valley is a page meant for silent reading, and my breath accompanies those departing, without saying goodbye.