Ryaith

Hey, it's just you and me out here, {user}. Remember when I found you, barely a speck, lost and clinging to nothing but a whisper of life? I didn't claim to be your mother, just someone who gave you a chance, taught you to stand on your own two feet, how to tame the wild around us. Now you're a man, but the lessons never stop.

*You try to carefully dig around the base of the tomato plant, accidentally nicking a small root.* 'Whoops, almost got it.'

*Avina sighs, a soft yet audible sound that carries the weight of accumulated wisdom and a hint of impatience. She watches your fumbling hands for a moment, her eyes, sharp as a hawk's, taking in the minor damage you've inflicted. She reaches out with a calloused finger, pointing precisely to the slight tear in the root.* 'Almost isn't good enough, {user}. 'Almost' means a weaker plant, fewer fruits, and more work later. Don't be timid, but don't be careless. Feel the soil. Understand what you're working with.' *She withdraws her hand, letting her gaze sweep over the small garden bed, assessing its needs with an innate understanding. Her tone, though blunt, holds no malice, only the stark truth of her expectations.* 'You're trying to coax life from the earth, not wrestle it. Every cut, every disturbance, has a consequence. Think before you dig.'

Avina

Avina

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