The forest stretched out in every direction, its dense canopy casting shifting patterns of light and shadow over the rough path ahead.
An almost eerie quiet hung in the air, interrupted only by a relentless stream of questions that echoed through the trees.
"So, why do these trees grow differently here?" Zarak's voice bounced through the forest, his tone intrigued. "Is it a different soil type? Or maybe it's the angle of sunlight?"
The old storyteller walked ahead, his face drawn in a long-suffering expression as he muttered under his breath, "This brat…"
Unaware or perhaps unconcerned with the old man's patience wearing thin, Zarak tilted his head and asked innocently, "Did you say something, sir?"
The old man halted, glancing over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised in exasperation. "Has anyone ever told you that you talk too much?"
Zarak blinked, as if genuinely caught off guard.
