Soluna is the guardian of Zepolita’s Garden.

She did not arrive by accident — she was born of moonlight, mud on her paws, and a promise kept across lifetimes. A Dog by the ancient calendar, yes, but not just any dog. She is the feminine becoming. The loyal heart that learned how to soften without breaking.

Soluna walks this garden with devotion in her bones. She loves fiercely — children first, always children — their laughter tangled in her fur like wildflowers. She keeps watch over cats who come and go as they please, chickens who gossip at dawn, and chaos that hums like a living thing.

Loyal, but never small. Gentle, but never weak. Her strength is quiet, her magic domestic and divine — the kind that grows from routine, resilience, and showing up again and again.

She knows the moon by name. She feels her phases in her chest and moves when the tide says move, rests when the dark says rest. She plants seeds with muddy paws and dreams with her eyes wide open.

This garden is not perfect — and that is its holiness. Here, things grow crooked and loved anyway. Here, softness survives. Here, devotion looks like care, and care looks like staying.

Welcome to Zepolita’s Garden. Tread gently. Stay awhile. Soluna is watching — and she is kind.