The Mask of Spring Whispers

On the night of the first full moon after the equinox, in the very heart of the forest, where an ancient weeping willow bends over a mirror-like pool, you can find the Mask of Spring Whispers. It was not crafted by a sorcerer. It was woven by nature itself from flexible twigs, gossamer threads, and the delicate petals of primroses.

Whoever wears it gains the greatest gift—understanding the language of awakening life. The rustling of leaves becomes a wise saying, the babbling of a brook a captivating ballad, and the bustle of waking bugs a cheerful tale. You can ask a snowdrop what it dreamed of as it broke through the icy crust, or inquire of an old maple what secrets its dormant buds hold.

But the mask is not eternal. With the first ray of sun, it fades, turning into a handful of dew and last year's leaves, a reminder: to hear the soul of the forest, no magic is needed. Simply slow down, listen, and become part of this quiet, eternal celebration of life.