Moni sat cross-legged in his hut, the flickering torchlight casting dancing shadows across the walls. His hands moved swiftly, tracing bold lines onto the woven mat before him, each stroke bringing a new story to life. Tonight, it was a tale of Maui snaring the sun, but with a little extra flair—Moni’s own touch, as always. He grinned as he sketched the ropes curling around the great burning orb, imagining the gasps and laughter his version would bring when he told it tomorrow. His hut was cluttered with past stories—scraps of palm leaves covered in doodles, bits of charcoal smudging his fingers—but he didn’t mind. Every space, every surface, was filled with stories waiting to be told, and Moni had plenty more left in him.