Kleeblatt,The Crocodile Spirit

Cloverleaf — The Crocodile Spirit

Born in the whisper of morning mist, under the watchful gaze of a silver dawn, Cloverleaf was never just a cub.
She was a promise.
The union of starlight and crystal — daughter of Sitara, walker between worlds, and Crystalstar, the lion who sang to the rivers and listened when the stones spoke.

But Cloverleaf?
She laughed at the stars.
She danced through the mud.
She followed not the skies, but the swamps — guided by scales and jaws and the deep green silence where the crocodiles dwell.

They became her brothers. Her guardians.
The pride feared them, but she saw beauty in their ancient power. While others looked to spirits in the wind or fire, Cloverleaf knelt beside the water and listened to the rumble of jaws beneath the surface. That was her truth.

She is a shaman, yes — but her path winds through swamps and shadows, through teeth and tide.
They say her voice can calm even the angriest beasts. That her paws leave prints only crocodiles understand. That she has never cried — not because she lacks pain, but because the river carries her sorrow away.

She is not starlight.
She is not crystal.
She is Cloverleaf — the Crocodile Spirit.
And the water knows her name.