Fyr

Among the Thaeryx, few bonds are as sacred as that between Vhalandir and Fyr. These great, shaggy beasts move with the patience of mountains and the strength of rivers. Their heavy coats, a shimmering weave of bronze, gold, and earthen brown, glisten like fire when caught in the sun, giving rise to their name. Beneath curling horns lie sharp minds, for their bright eyes shine not with mere instinct but with a keen, measured cleverness.
The Fyr are no livestock. To the Thaeryx, they are companions, guardians, and kin. Families raise them alongside their children, and every Vhalandir is taught from a young age how to listen to the subtle language of ear flicks, rumbling hums, and the stamping of hooves. The Fyr’s woolly coats are shed each spring, gathered and woven into garments both warm and ceremonial. Their milk is rich and sustaining, and their very presence is said to steady the spirit, for they radiate a quiet resilience.
Though a few Fyr are traded to distant tribes each year, the decision is never made lightly. Each creature is valued as dearly as a child, and parting with one is akin to severing a branch from the family tree.
Nurix and Thyren
Among all these beasts, none is more renowned than the companion of Nurix, eldest son of King Zaxus III. His Fyr is a towering bull, with horns that sweep back in proud spirals and a mane like molten bronze. Where others plod with steady patience, Thyren runs as if the winds themselves carried him.
Together they have vanished into ruins long untrodden, forded rivers no map records, and scaled cliffs where even the hawks hesitate. Nurix trusts him more than any scout, claiming that Thyren can smell danger in the stones themselves. When Nurix returns from his journeys, it is always with his Fyr at his side — battered, muddy, and weary, yet proud.
The people whisper that when the time comes for Nurix to ascend the throne, Thyren will not merely be a steed, but a symbol of a new age: a king and his beast, both restless, both unbound, both forever seeking the horizon.
