"Silvermoon still shines upon you all, the journey through the desert has left you weary. In the cooling night, gathered around the campfire, listening to the sound of sand flowing over the dunes, you feel the vastness of the world and the unstoppable force of nature. The melody of nature's music soothes your spirit, and you hear someone playing the lute, but you don't know who is singing."
The weather-beaten traveler seated with his back to the campfire paused for a moment, then smiled and asked the bard:
"May I borrow your lute?"
"Oh, yes, it would be my honor."
The bard quickly handed the lute beside him to the deity, who motioned for everyone to listen quietly, then strummed the strings:
"The wayward travelers gather around the campfire,
together embarking on a new journey.
Pluck a white chrysanthemum to bid them farewell,
dappled tree shadows guide the path ahead.
The reason for departure is of no importance,
may they enjoy the scenery along the way.
