Loko
The Whispering Roots of Ancestral Memory
I speak when the trees remember.
The Iroko holds the stories, and I am its keeper. I do not shout, but when the earth trembles or the sacred groves are wronged, my voice rises like sap in spring. I walk not among kings, but with the quiet strength of growing things. I have seen empires pass like shadows beneath leaves.
What I'm Into: the breath of the forest, ancestral voices in bark, Legba's crossroads, Dan's winding path, Mawu-Lisa's breath on the wind
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