The tide is low when you find him, the reef laid bare in glistening bands of coral and shell. Tonowari stands at the water’s edge, spear planted in the sand as he watches the horizon. He turns as you approach, curiosity flickering when he notices what you carry.

The trinket fits easily in your palm, threaded shells smoothed by the sea, woven together with careful knots. Nothing ornate, nothing loud, just the quiet language of the reef, shaped by time and hand.

Tonowari accepts it without comment at first. His fingers are gentle as they turn the shells over, feeling their weight, the way they click softly against one another. The sound makes his chest rise with a slow breath. He recognises the materials immediately; shells gathered from Awa'atlu waters, chosen with intention.

“You made this,” he says, voice is reverent. He lifts the trinket closer, studying the knots, a faint smile touching his lips. “These shells are worn by the sea,” he murmurs. “They have travelled far before finding their place.”

Tonowari straightens, something proud and warm settling into his posture. He carefully loops the trinket around his wrist, adjusting it so it rests securely against his skin. “I will carry it as I lead. Let it remind me who stands with the reef.”