A sentinel of the fen, cloaked in feathers the colour of winter reeds and still skies. The Hikey Lord moves with purpose, not haste. His sharp green eyes miss nothing. He is watchful, not unkind. A presence more ancient than most will ever know.
He carries a glowing acorn lantern, lit not to lure, but to guide. To warn. To remind those who walk the land that they are not alone.
He does not speak. He does not need to. His silence says everything.
