You draw wealth and responsibility toward you faster than you build the ground to stand on — a spring-born Wood that pulls opportunity in, yet stands on a blade of metal with almost no water to drink.

They bend without breaking. Rooted enough that they're not easily knocked over, flexible enough to give with the wind and spring back — but they carry more than they can comfortably hold. Work, obligation, other people's expectations press in from every side, and the thing that refills them is the thing life hands them least of.

Practical to the bone — they'd rather build a thing steadily than gamble for it — and they hold themselves to a standard that never quite lets them rest. The risk was never laziness. It's saying yes to too much and running dry before noticing the tank is low.

People are more certain of them than they are. They read as self-contained and independent — someone who doesn't need managing and doesn't much like it — and quick to say the thing everyone else was routing around. That bluntness lands as confidence, even when from inside it's just the standard they can't put down.

They're seen as the practical one. People hand them the plan, the budget, the thing that has to actually happen — and rarely bring them feelings first, because what they visibly do is fix things.

The gap worth knowing about: when they're running on empty, it doesn't show. The image absorbs it. They look steady right up until they're not.