Among the Fauknir, where most prefer the steady rhythm of fields and farmsteads, Farryn stands apart. He is a woodcutter, broad-shouldered and tireless, and the forest is as much his dwelling as the cottage he calls home. Many days he spends alone beyond the gates, axe on his back, venturing deep into the Dreomere borderlands. The sound of his strokes against oak and pine is as familiar to him as the laughter of his neighbors.

Farryn harbors a quiet hunger for the wild. Where other Fauknir cling close to their homes, he finds joy in the solitude of the woods, breathing the resinous air, watching the deer slip through the underbrush. On rare occasions, when his search for rare timber takes him farther than a day’s walk, he will unroll his bedroll beneath the stars and spend a sleepless night in the hush of the pines. Such ventures are whispered of with both admiration and unease, for it is uncommon among his people to wander so freely.

Twice each year, the rhythm of Farryn’s life changes with the arrival of the Vhalandir. They come with their great Fyr-beasts, drawing wagons laden with milk and wool, and in return they claim bread, grain, and wood. For these days, Farryn becomes host and guide. He leads the Vhalandir into the forest, where he has already stacked a great haul of timber. Together they load the wagons, laughter mixing with the scent of fresh-cut wood. Part of the stack is always bound for the Vhalandir, and Farryn welcomes the exchange—not only for trade, but for the stories they bring. Around the fire, he listens wide-eyed to their songs of distant places, while they in turn delight in his tales of local beasts and the hidden ways of the wetlands. More than once, a scholar among them has lingered to record his knowledge of herbs, tracks, and the movements of birds.

For all his fondness of the forest, Farryn’s heart is not lost to it. His evenings with Mirrin remain his truest comfort. Neighbors and friends since boyhood, the two men spend many nights by the fire, mugs of mead in hand, trading the gossip of the village and weaving their own small lore from the rhythms of daily life. If Mirrin is the keeper of light and safety, Farryn is the breath of the wild—and together they embody the balance that sustains the Fauknir.