Like a child's innocense, like a late winter snowfllake, like a night of passion, a truce can be such a fleeting thing. The Wordle Friends must inevitably and regrettably turn against one another, recalling the image of a weeping Wesley Snipes pointing a handgun at the camera in that one meme that's like "When I gotta kill Tony Hawk in the race war" or whatever.
The Wordle Friends learn to play an enchanted tune.
Having sprung forward, the Wordle Friends are mazed and splenetic but must attempt to solve the puzzle regardless.
An intervention is staged for one Wordle Friend's pending ruinous addiction to hard drugs.