High in the lower slopes of Eryndal, where the cliffs meet the flowered meadows and the last roots of Thalorien cling to stone, dwell the Bryndel. Larger kin to the Pymblets, they thrive in this borderland of rock and bloom, hiding in plain sight among boulders and blossoms. Their skin resembles weathered stone, rough and speckled, so that a still Bryndel is almost indistinguishable from the crags around it.

In summer they adorn themselves with alpine flowers, vanishing into the meadows as living fragments of the mountainside. In winter they vanish altogether. Some say they tunnel deep beneath the snow; others claim they harden into stone itself, waiting for spring to rouse them once more.

When disturbed, the Bryndel release a sharp, resonant cry that echoes across the slopes—more felt than heard. No mouths can be seen, yet the sound ripples through stone as though the mountain itself had spoken. Scholars believe their bodies are malleable, shifting to conceal limbs or features at will, allowing them to merge perfectly with the rocks they inhabit.