Fen.
The ballroom buzzed with the usual conversations and laughter, but the noise felt distant. My mind was occupied with the task ahead—getting Braxton Fantompaw on board for the wall project. I knew he'd be here tonight. Braxton and I were friendly, and though he was often reserved, we shared a quiet understanding. He wasn't the type to make grand gestures, but he was pragmatic, and that made him reliable when it came to business. If anyone could see the value in this wall project, it was him.
I spotted him near the bar, standing alone, as usual, with his posture slightly hunched in that way he always had when he was deep in thought. His golden-yellow eyes swept across the room, but his attention was clearly elsewhere. His dark, full beard framed his face, adding to his intimidating yet thoughtful aura. Braxton was a man who didn't speak much, but when he did, his words carried weight. He wasn't easily swayed, but that made him all the more worth the effort.
