Speaker 1: A very warm and gentle welcome to you. Thank you
Speaker 1: most kindly for choosing to spend a little of your
Speaker 1: quiet time with us. It is a very good thing, indeed,
Speaker 1: to seek out a peaceful story, for sometimes the world
Speaker 1: can feel a little too hurried and a little too loud,
Speaker 1: and a tale as soft as this one is just
Speaker 1: the ticket to help one's thoughts settle, much like motes
Speaker 1: of dust in a quiet, sunlit room, preparing the way
Speaker 1: for a truly deep and RESTful sleep. And so as
Speaker 1: we prepare to step into this gentle place together, we
Speaker 1: hope you find a measure of true comfort and profound
Speaker 1: peace within the telling of this story. Should that be
Speaker 1: the case, and if it feels right to you, we
Speaker 1: would be so very grateful if you would like this
Speaker 1: story and subscribe to our channel, for it would be
Speaker 1: a great joy to continue sharing these quiet little corners
Speaker 1: of the world with you. Now find a comfortable position,
Speaker 1: let your breath be easy, and let us begin chapter one.
Speaker 1: The first home. One must be very quiet, indeed to
Speaker 1: find a path such as this, for it does not
Speaker 1: announce itself with signposts or well trodden ground. It was
Speaker 1: a mere suggestion of a trail a parting in the
Speaker 1: ferns that seemed to beckon with a silent, leafy finger,
Speaker 1: and Finian, whose heart was always inclined towards such gentle invitations,
Speaker 1: had followed with every soft footfall upon the rich, dark loam.
Speaker 1: It felt as if a heavy cloak, one he hadn't
Speaker 1: even known he was wearing, was slipping from his shoulders.
Speaker 1: The clamor and hurry of the wider world, with all
Speaker 1: its sharp edges and insistent demands, seemed to fade behind him,
Speaker 1: its memory dissolving into the soft, green scented air like
Speaker 1: sugar in warm tea. He walked for a time that
Speaker 1: had no name, measured not minutes, but in the slow
Speaker 1: rhythmic pattern of his own quiet breathing. The trees here
Speaker 1: were of a kind and ancient vintage, their great, smooth
Speaker 1: bark trunks rising like the pillars of a gentle sun
Speaker 1: dappled cathedral, Their leaves, broad and shaped like open hands,
Speaker 1: filtered the afternoon light into a soft, aqueous green, bathing
Speaker 1: the air in a peaceful luminescence that calmed the eye.
Speaker 1: The very atmosphere felt different here, thicker somehow, as if
Speaker 1: laden with a deep and abiding tranquility that one could
Speaker 1: almost feel against the skin, a sensation as soft as
Speaker 1: a moth's wing. It was the scent of wood smoke,
Speaker 1: a delicate, pale ribbon of fragrance on the air that
Speaker 1: led him finely to the hollow. The path opened without
Speaker 1: fanfare into a small, sheltered veil, a perfect cup in
Speaker 1: the land's gentle hands. And there it was a cottage.
Speaker 1: It was a structure that seemed not to have been
Speaker 1: built upon the land, to have grown from it, with
Speaker 1: walls of smooth gray riverstone and a roof of thick
Speaker 1: living moss that was a dozen shades of green. A
Speaker 1: single curl of smoke the color of a pearl, rose
Speaker 1: from its stout chimney, not climbing urgently, but meandering its
Speaker 1: way into the sky, a soft and friendly greeting in
Speaker 1: the stillness as dusk began to settle, its soft lavender
Speaker 1: and rose colored shawl across the sky. Finian approached the
Speaker 1: cottage's simple wooden door. There was slightly a jar, a
Speaker 1: silent welcome, and as he pushed it gently open, a
Speaker 1: wave of warmth and quiet washed over him. The air
Speaker 1: inside was blessedly cool, yet held the comforting scent of
Speaker 1: dried herbs and the faint, clean smell of bees wax.
Speaker 1: A fire crackled softly in a small stone hearth, its
Speaker 1: flames not leaping and dancing, but swaying with a slow,
Speaker 1: languid rhythm, casting a warm, buttery light upon the rooms, simple,
Speaker 1: well loved wooden furniture. It was a place that felt immediately,
Speaker 1: unquestionably safe. He sank into a sturdy arm chair, its
Speaker 1: cushions yielding, with a soft sigh, and let the profound
Speaker 1: silence of the place envelop him. It was a quiet
Speaker 1: so complete it seemed to have a weight and texture,
Speaker 1: a tangible presence, like a warm, heavy blanket. It was
Speaker 1: a silence that did not feel empty, but full, full
Speaker 1: of peace, full of rest. He closed his eyes, feeling
Speaker 1: the journey's weariness begin to melt from his bones, the
Speaker 1: tension in his neck and shoulders simply dissolving into the
Speaker 1: comforting quiet of the room. He felt he could sit
Speaker 1: here forever, wrapped in this profound and gentle peace. It
Speaker 1: was then, in that deep well of stillness that he
Speaker 1: first perceived it. It was not quite a sound that
Speaker 1: his ears could register, but rather a sensation, a feeling
Speaker 1: that resonated deep within his bones. It was a low,
Speaker 1: steady and altogether pleasant hum, a vibration that seemed to
Speaker 1: emanate from the very foundations of the cottage, from the
Speaker 1: old wooden floorboards beneath his feet, and the ancient stones
Speaker 1: of the hearth. It was a thrumb, as gentle as
Speaker 1: a purring cat, a feeling of life, steady and and deeply,
Speaker 1: deeply calm. This resonance, for that is what it felt like,
Speaker 1: seemed to fill the spaces between the silence. It was
Speaker 1: the quiet, rhythmic pulse of the hollow itself, a gentle
Speaker 1: lullaby sung by the earth. Finian did not understand it,
Speaker 1: and felt no need to. It was simply there, a
Speaker 1: constant and reassuring presence. He let his own breathing slow,
Speaker 1: his exhalations falling into cadence. With the low, steady hung
Speaker 1: the last vestiges of the outside world faded completely, and
Speaker 1: a sense of peace more profound than any he had
Speaker 1: ever known, settled over him, like the softest, warmest down
Speaker 1: here in this small glowing room, surrounded by a silence
Speaker 1: that was alive and a sound that was felt rather
Speaker 1: than heard. Finian felt he had at long last come home.
Speaker 1: The fire swayed, the resonance hummed its ancient soothing tomb,
Speaker 1: and the quiet cartographer, his heart full of a simple
Speaker 1: and unexpected gratitude, let his head rest back against the
Speaker 1: soft cushions. The world was far away now, and all
Speaker 1: that mattered was the warm, gentle, and thrumbing peace of
Speaker 1: this small hidden place. Chapter two. The sun warmed stones.
Speaker 1: The morning arrived not with a sudden burst of light,
Speaker 1: but with a slow, gentle seeping of purlescent gray into
Speaker 1: the soft dark Finian awoke feeling as though he had
Speaker 1: slept for a hundred years, a deep and dreamless slumber
Speaker 1: that had mended parts of him he hadn't known were afraid.
Speaker 1: The low resonant hume was still there, a constant, comforting
Speaker 1: presence that felt as natural and essential as the beat
Speaker 1: of his own heart. The fire in the hearth had
Speaker 1: dwindled to a bed of softly glowing embers, and the
Speaker 1: air in the cottage was cool and smelled of stone
Speaker 1: and the promise of a new day. He pushed open
Speaker 1: the heavy wooden door and stepped out into the hollow.
Speaker 1: The air was crisp and carried the rich, fertile scent
Speaker 1: of damp earth and moss. A fine, silvery mist clung
Speaker 1: to the ground, muffling the world in a blanket of quiet,
Speaker 1: and making the ancient trees seem even more like gentle,
Speaker 1: sleeping guardians. It was then that he saw her, moving
Speaker 1: through the mist with a slow, deliberate grace, a figure
Speaker 1: as serene and at home in this place as the
Speaker 1: old stones themselves. It was Aila, the tender of this
Speaker 1: quiet haven, and she offered him a still kind smile
Speaker 1: that seemed to warm the cool morning air. A good
Speaker 1: morning to you, she murmured, her voice as soft as
Speaker 1: the mist that swirled around her ankles. The tea is steeping,
Speaker 1: if you would care for a cup. It was less
Speaker 1: a question and more a gentle statement of fact, a
Speaker 1: simple offering of comfort. Finnian feeling of warmth spread through
Speaker 1: his chest that had nothing to do with the sun.
Speaker 1: Nodded gratefully. They sat together on a simple wooden bench
Speaker 1: outside the cottage, sipping a wonderfully fragrant tea that tasted
Speaker 1: of mint and something sweet like dried apple. Their conversation
Speaker 1: was unhurried, a series of gentle observations about the quality
Speaker 1: of the light or the scent of the damp soil,
Speaker 1: punctuated by long, comfortable silences. In Oila's presence, Finian felt
Speaker 1: no need to explain himself or his journey. It was
Speaker 1: as if she understood everything without a word being said.
Speaker 1: She seemed a part of the hollow, her quietude a
Speaker 1: reflection of the land's own. Her hands as she held
Speaker 1: her simple ceramic mug, were those of someone who has
Speaker 1: spent a lifetime tending to growing things. Her movements patient
Speaker 1: and full of a deep gentle. Knowing she was, Finian
Speaker 1: thought perhaps the most peaceful person he had ever met,
Speaker 1: a living embodiment of the hollow's own serene spirit. Later,
Speaker 1: as the sun climbed higher and burned away the last
Speaker 1: of the mist, leaving behind a world sparkling with a
Speaker 1: million tiny dew gems, or A gestured toward one of
Speaker 1: the large moss covered stones that dotted the gentle slopes
Speaker 1: of the hollow. The stones are very old friends, she
Speaker 1: said softly. They hold the warmth of the sun better
Speaker 1: than anything, and they have their own stories to tell
Speaker 1: if one is quiet enough to listen. Intrigued, Finian followed
Speaker 1: her the soft, springy moss a cushion beneath his feet,
Speaker 1: its text cool and slightly damp. He reached one of
Speaker 1: the largest stones, a great, smooth, giant line, half buried
Speaker 1: in the earth, as if it had been sleeping for eons.
Speaker 1: He placed his palm flat against its surface, and the
Speaker 1: sensation was immediate and surprising. The stone was wonderfully, deeply warm,
Speaker 1: having soaked up the morning sun, a dry and pleasant
Speaker 1: heat that felt wonderfully soothing against his skin. But beneath
Speaker 1: that surface warmth he felt something more. He felt the resonance,
Speaker 1: the hum, But here it was clearer, more focused, a steady,
Speaker 1: rhythmic pulse flowing directly from the ancient stone into his hand,
Speaker 1: up his arm, and into the very center of his bend.
Speaker 1: It was a feeling of profound stability and calm, a
Speaker 1: connection to something ancient, slow and utterly unshakable. The hum
Speaker 1: of the stone seemed to speak of the long quiet
Speaker 1: centuries spent under the sun and stars, of the patient
Speaker 1: turning of seasons, of a peace so deep it was
Speaker 1: beyond all understanding. Finian closed his eyes, leaning his shoulder
Speaker 1: against the great warm stone, feeling the tension in his
Speaker 1: muscles simply melt away, eased by the gentle heat and
Speaker 1: the steady, thrumbing pulse. He stayed there for a long time,
Speaker 1: just breathing with the stone, feeling its ancient, calming energy
Speaker 1: flow through him. Orla had moved away, giving him space,
Speaker 1: her respect for his quiet moment as natural as the
Speaker 1: breeze that stirred the leaves her head. In that moment,
Speaker 1: Finian understood that the magic of this place was not
Speaker 1: loud or showy. It was a quiet, deep magic, woven
Speaker 1: into the very fabric of the land. It was in
Speaker 1: the warmth of the stones, the taste of the tea,
Speaker 1: the kindness in a stranger's eyes, and the low, constant
Speaker 1: hum that held it all together in a perfect, peaceful harmony.
Speaker 1: Chapter three, The lumino bloom as the afternoon sun began
Speaker 1: its slow golden descent, casting long, soft shadows across the hollow.
Speaker 1: Eula approached Finian with that same gentle, gnawing smile. There
Speaker 1: is something else I think you would like to see,
Speaker 1: she said, her voice a soft murmur. It is a
Speaker 1: gift the hollow gives to the evening curious. Finian followed
Speaker 1: her along a winding, barely there path that led deeper
Speaker 1: into the embrace of the ancient woods. The air grew
Speaker 1: cooler here, and the rich scent of damp earth and
Speaker 1: decaying leaves was overlaid with a new fragrance, something wonderfully
Speaker 1: delicate and sweet, like warm honey and camel mal blossomed.
Speaker 1: They arrived in a small, secluded clearing, a perfect circle
Speaker 1: of mossy grounds, surrounded by a ring of slender, elegant ferns.
Speaker 1: It was here that the source of the beautiful scent grew.
Speaker 1: Clusters of remarkable bell shaped flowers, their petals thick and fleshy,
Speaker 1: the color of heavy cream. During the day, they were
Speaker 1: lovely but unassuming. But as the last rays of sunlight
Speaker 1: faded from the sky and the world was painted in
Speaker 1: the deep, soft blues and purples of twilight, a quiet
Speaker 1: magic began to unfold. A soft inner light began to
Speaker 1: emanate from the heart of each blossom. It started as
Speaker 1: a faint purlescent sheen, then slowly, gently it swelled into
Speaker 1: a warm, steady glow. The entire clearing was soon bathed
Speaker 1: in a soft, pinkish white luminescence that seemed to push
Speaker 1: back the encroaching darkness, not with harshness, but with a
Speaker 1: gentle reassuring presence. The light was alive, pulsing with a
Speaker 1: slow rhythmic beat, in perfect time with the resonance that
Speaker 1: hummed in the air. Finian stood in silent awe watching
Speaker 1: the wondrous, silent display. These with a luminous flow, and
Speaker 1: their beauty was a balm for the soul. They share
Speaker 1: their light most freely when they feel a calm heart
Speaker 1: near by. Orla whispered, her voice full of a simple,
Speaker 1: happy reverence, as if in response, the hum and the
Speaker 1: clearing seemed to deepen, becoming more melodic, a clearer and
Speaker 1: more harmonious chord of the hollow's constant, gentle song. The
Speaker 1: light from the petals cast no sharp shadows, only soft
Speaker 1: shifting patterns on the mossy ground and on Finian's own
Speaker 1: hands as he held them out a silent gesture of
Speaker 1: wonder and appreciation. The warm, comforting scent of honey and
Speaker 1: cameomeo intensified, wrapping around him like the softest embrace from
Speaker 1: the clearing of the lumina flora. Orla led him to
Speaker 1: another of the hollow secrets. Tucked away at the base
Speaker 1: of a small weeping willow, was a pool of water
Speaker 1: so perfectly still. It seemed like a solid sheet of
Speaker 1: dark glass, But as Finnian drew closer, he saw that
Speaker 1: its surface was not reflecting the twilight sky. Instead, it
Speaker 1: was filled with its own light, a slow, mesmerizing swirl
Speaker 1: of liquid colors, soft blues, gentle lavenders, and faint streaks
Speaker 1: of pale, watery green, like a gentle captured nebula. This, Or, explained,
Speaker 1: was a whispering pool. He knelt at its edge, the cool,
Speaker 1: damp moss a soft cushion for his knees. The air
Speaker 1: around the pool was noticeably cooler, and the only sound
Speaker 1: was the impossibly soft rustle of the willow leaves above.
Speaker 1: Drawn by an impulse he didn't need to understand, Finnian
Speaker 1: reached out and dipped his fingers into the water. The
Speaker 1: coolness was a pleasant shock, and the water felt impossibly soft,
Speaker 1: like liquid silk. As he drew his hand back, he
Speaker 1: felt a wave of pure quiet contentment wash over him,
Speaker 1: a feeling of deep, untroubled joy that settled his chest
Speaker 1: and spread through his entire body. He looked at his
Speaker 1: hand and saw that a faint, silvery shimmer clung to
Speaker 1: his skin, a residue of the pool's gentle magic. It
Speaker 1: did not feel wet, but simply cool and pleasant, and
Speaker 1: it glowed with a faint light of its own for
Speaker 1: a few moments before softly fading away, like a pleasant
Speaker 1: thought it can't might hold on to. He felt lighter,
Speaker 1: as if some unseen weight had been lifted from his spirit,
Speaker 1: replaced by the cool, clear piece of the whispering pool.
Speaker 1: That evening, as he sat once more by the warm,
Speaker 1: swaying fire in the cottage, Finian felt changed. The world
Speaker 1: of the hollow had opened itself to him, sharing its
Speaker 1: quiet wonders, the melodic hume of the glowing flowers, the
Speaker 1: deep contentment of the swirling pools, the steadfast warmth of
Speaker 1: the ancient stones. He felt the ever present resonance not
Speaker 1: just around him, but within him, a gentle, humming current
Speaker 1: that connected him with this peaceful, living land. He closed
Speaker 1: his eyes, and the image that filled his mind was
Speaker 1: of the soft pulse in light of the lumina flora,
Speaker 1: a gentle, rhythmic beacon in the quiet, peaceful dark. Chapter four,
Speaker 1: The cadence of stillness. In the days that followed, Finnian
Speaker 1: found a rhythm that was not his own, but that
Speaker 1: of the hollow. It was a slow, languid cadence, marked
Speaker 1: by the rising of the soft sun and the gentle
Speaker 1: blooming of the lumina flora. At dusk, he found a
Speaker 1: particular spot that called to him, a place that felt
Speaker 1: like his own, quiet corner of this peaceful world. It
Speaker 1: was a smooth, wide patch of moss at the base
Speaker 1: of a great, ancient beech tree, its silvery bark patterned
Speaker 1: with centuries of lichen. From here he could overlook one
Speaker 1: one of the whispering pools, its surface a constant, slow
Speaker 1: dance of soft, nebulous color. He would spend long, unhurried
Speaker 1: stretches of time there, often doing nothing that the outside
Speaker 1: world would call productive. He was not trying to achieve anything,
Speaker 1: not seeking answers or wrestling with thoughts. He was, for
Speaker 1: the first time in a very long while, simply being.
Speaker 1: He would lie back against the springy, cool moss, the
Speaker 1: texture a pleasant comfort against his back, and watch the
Speaker 1: way the dappled green light shifted and played through the
Speaker 1: leaves of the great tree above him. The air would
Speaker 1: be filled with the clean, earthy scent of the soil
Speaker 1: and the faint, sweet perfume carried on the breeze from
Speaker 1: some distant, unknown blossom. It was here that he truly
Speaker 1: learned to listen, not just with his ears, but with
Speaker 1: his whole body. He would close his eyes and focus
Speaker 1: on the ever present home of the resonance, feeling it
Speaker 1: in the ground beneath him, in the trunk of the
Speaker 1: tree at his back, and in the very air he breathed.
Speaker 1: At first, his mind would still wander, a habit of
Speaker 1: a lifetime, bringing up old maps and half remembered roads.
Speaker 1: But he would not fight these thoughts. He would simply
Speaker 1: acknowledge them, like clouds passing in the sky, and gently,
Speaker 1: patiently bring his awareness back to the hum. Gradually, something
Speaker 1: remarkable began to happen. His own breathing, without any conscious effort,
Speaker 1: began to slow and deepen, falling into perfect time with
Speaker 1: the low, steady cadence of the hollow. The river of
Speaker 1: his thoughts, once a busy, chattering flow, began to slow
Speaker 1: to a quiet, meandering stream, the spaces between thoughts growing
Speaker 1: longer and more peaceful. A profound sense of stillness began
Speaker 1: to settle over him, a quietude that was not empty,
Speaker 1: but deeply, wonderfully full. It was the peace of complete
Speaker 1: acceptance of being exactly where he was meant to be,
Speaker 1: with nothing to do and nowhere else to go. One afternoon,
Speaker 1: as he sat in his usual spot, a small brown
Speaker 1: bird with a chest the color of a rye Apricott
Speaker 1: landed on a branch just above him. It regarded him
Speaker 1: with a bright, curious eye, then let out a short,
Speaker 1: melodic string of notes, a sound as clear and pure
Speaker 1: as water trickling over smooth stones. Finian did not move,
Speaker 1: He simply sat a part of the scenery, and the bird,
Speaker 1: feeling no threat, continued its song. In that moment, Finian
Speaker 1: felt a connection not just to the bird, but to everything,
Speaker 1: the tree, the moss, the pool, the light. He was
Speaker 1: not an observer of this world. He was a part
Speaker 1: of it, humming with the same quiet, life filled resonance.
Speaker 1: He felt the last tight knots of tension he had
Speaker 1: carried for so long finally completely unravel. The constant, low
Speaker 1: level hum of worry that had been the background noise
Speaker 1: of his life for as long as he could remember,
Speaker 1: was gone, replaced by the gentle, restorative hum of the hollow.
Speaker 1: A simple and reassuring truth settled into his heart. The
Speaker 1: world did not need him to map it, or understand it,
Speaker 1: or conquer it. It only needed him to be quiet
Speaker 1: enough to appreciate its gentle, wondrous beauty. He opened his
Speaker 1: eyes and looked at the whispering pool. The soft, swirling
Speaker 1: colors of blue and lavender seemed to pulse with a
Speaker 1: gentle contentment, a perfect reflection of the peace he felt inside.
Speaker 1: A small, genuine smile touched his lips. He was not
Speaker 1: the same man who had stumbled upon that hidden path.
Speaker 1: That man had been searching for rest. This man, the
Speaker 1: man sitting at the foot of an ancient tree in
Speaker 1: a quiet, humming hollow, had found it. Chapter five, A
Speaker 1: Carried Peace. The morning of Finian's departure arrived, as all
Speaker 1: mornings did in the hollow, softly and without any sense
Speaker 1: of urgency. A cool, clean light filtered through the window
Speaker 1: of the cottage, and the air was sweet with the
Speaker 1: scent of dew on green leaves. There was no sadness
Speaker 1: in the leaving, no feeling of an ending, for Finian
Speaker 1: understood now that the hollow was not a place one
Speaker 1: could truly leave behind. Its peace had been planted in him,
Speaker 1: a seed that would continue to grow. He sat one
Speaker 1: last time with Oiler on the simple wooden bench, a
Speaker 1: warm ceramic mug cradled in his hands. The tea was fragrant,
Speaker 1: and the steam rose a gentle spiral into the still
Speaker 1: morning air. They did not speak of goodbyes. Instead, Oorla
Speaker 1: pointed to a tiny, vibrant green sprout pushing its way
Speaker 1: up through the dark earth near the cottage steps. Everything
Speaker 1: here knows its own time to grow, she said, her
Speaker 1: voice a soft, contented murmur, and its own time to rest.
Speaker 1: Finnian nodded, understanding her meaning completely. He felt the resonance
Speaker 1: all around him, a familiar and comforting friend. It was
Speaker 1: the low, steady hum of the stones waking to the
Speaker 1: morning sun, the gentle thrum of the ancient trees drawing
Speaker 1: water up from their deep roots, the quiet, life filled
Speaker 1: pulse of the very soil beneath his feet. But now,
Speaker 1: when he his mind, he could feel a faint echo
Speaker 1: of it within his own chest. It was a low,
Speaker 1: steady hum in his own heart, a quiet cadence of
Speaker 1: stillness that he knew with a deep and simple certainty
Speaker 1: he would now carry with him wherever he went. When
Speaker 1: it was time, he stood, and Orla stood with him.
Speaker 1: She placed a small smooth gray stone in his palm.
Speaker 1: It was cool to the touch, but as his fingers
Speaker 1: closed around it, he could feel a faint, familiar vibration
Speaker 1: emanating from it, A tiny piece of the hollow song
Speaker 1: a reminder, she said, simply that piece is a thing
Speaker 1: you can hold. Few other words were needed. Their farewell
Speaker 1: was a shared look of quiet gratitude, a simple mutual
Speaker 1: understanding that transcended language. Finian turned and walked back toward
Speaker 1: the almost hidden path that had first led him here.
Speaker 1: He did not look back, for there was no need.
Speaker 1: The feeling of the hollow was all around him and
Speaker 1: within him. He could feel the soft, springy moss under
Speaker 1: his feet, smell the rich, clean scent of the earth,
Speaker 1: and hear the gentle, constant hum of life in his heart.
Speaker 1: His shoulders were relaxed, his breathing was slow and easy,
Speaker 1: and his mind was wonderfully blissfully quiet. As he stepped
Speaker 1: from the shelter of the ancient trees and back into
Speaker 1: the wider world, he noticed that the light seemed softer,
Speaker 1: the colors of the wild flowers more gentle, the sound
Speaker 1: of the breeze in the grass a friendly whisper. The
Speaker 1: world had not changed, but he had, he carried the
Speaker 1: hollow with him. The narrative softly fades here, not with
Speaker 1: an ending, but with the beginning, the beginning of a new,
Speaker 1: more peaceful way of being, leaving the listener to drift
Speaker 1: on that same gentle current of calm, enveloped in the
Speaker 1: feeling of a deep, restorative, and lasting peace. The low
Speaker 1: resonance of the stones, the warm glow of the lumin
Speaker 1: of flora, the quiet contentment of the whispering pools. These
Speaker 1: were no longer just memories of a place visited. They
Speaker 1: were a part of him now. The story concludes on
Speaker 1: a soft, long exhalation, a final, gentle release, leaving the
Speaker 1: listener in a state of profound tranquility, ready for a
Speaker 1: deep and untroubled sleep, carrying a small piece of the
Speaker 1: hollows piece with them into their.
Speaker 2: Dreams, insists Insi.
Speaker 3: Dad us Usu.