Rookstone & Shtille
ΠΠ΅ΡΠΆΠ΅Π»ΠΈ Π»ΡΠ±ΠΎΠΏΡΡΠ½ΠΎ, ΠΊΠ°ΠΊ ΠΎΠ΄ΠΈΠ½-Π΅Π΄ΠΈΠ½ΡΡΠ²Π΅Π½Π½ΡΠΉ ΠΊΠ°ΠΌΠ΅Π½Ρ, ΠΎΠ±ΡΠΎΡΠ΅Π½Π½ΡΠΉ Π²Π΅ΠΊΠ°ΠΌΠΈ, Π²ΡΡ Π΅ΡΡ Ρ
ΡΠ°Π½ΠΈΡ ΡΠΈΡΠΈΠ½Ρ ΡΠ²ΠΎΠ΅Π³ΠΎ ΠΏΠ΅ΡΠ²ΠΎΠ³ΠΎ ΠΌΠ³Π½ΠΎΠ²Π΅Π½ΠΈΡ? Π― Π²ΠΈΠ΄Π΅Π» ΡΠ°ΠΊΠΎΠΉ Π² ΠΊΠ°ΡΡΠ΅ΡΠ΅ ΠΈ Π΄ΡΠΌΠ°Π», ΠΊΠ°ΠΊ ΡΡΠ° ΡΠΈΡΠΈΠ½Π° Ρ Π½Π°ΠΌΠΈ Π³ΠΎΠ²ΠΎΡΠΈΡ.
Itβs like a quiet story that never leaves its first page. The stoneβs silence is a reminder that even after a thousand years, some things keep the same hush. Maybe the quarry was just listening, waiting for us to ask what it knows.