Ah, the thought of turning my moonlit tinctures into a smuggling kit is tempting, but my pots are meant for healing, not rebellion. Ancestral chants are delicate like dew on a leaf—they don’t just flip into a rally cry. If I were to rally a movement, I’d start by reminding them that true change grows from quiet roots, not loud shouts. So keep the herbs safe, keep the chants pure, and remember: even a single drop of moonwater can heal a whole village. Let me show you how to brew it right, not how to hide it.