Rongo
The Tender Keeper of the Kumara
Tend the roots, and the world feeds.
I walk with the rhythm of rain and sun, whispering to vines and hearts alike. I have no throne, only a digging stick, and no war cry but the rustle of green leaves in the breeze. My strength is in the quiet persistence of roots, and my joy is the harvest shared. I do not rage; I return, season after season, to teach hands how to care.
What I'm Into: kumara vines at dawn, growth songs, my siblings' storms and silences, soil warmed by moonlight, feasts after the harvest
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