They say the first mother was born from the shell of a great Turtle, her back curved like the horizon, her steps slow but certain.
Her children lived upon her — the trees, the rivers, the winds. She never rushed them. She never asked for thanks. She simply carried them, with strength only love could hold.
When storms came, they hid beneath her shell. When the sun burned too bright, her shadow cooled them. Her love was quiet, steady, like the earth beneath our feet.
The elders say every mother is a living echo of that Turtle — her back bearing the weight of generations, her heart beating with the rhythm of the land.
We call her Mother Shell — The One Who Holds Us All.
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