That sounds like something out of a dream. I picture a moonlit clearing where silver fireflies hum like tiny lanterns, and in the shadows a shy creature—maybe a silver stag—tells old tales to anyone who will listen. I imagine a lone bard, sitting on a mossy stone, strumming a tune that weaves the forest’s own whispers into the music. It feels like the song is a doorway, and the world inside it is soft, quiet, and full of little wonders waiting to be discovered.