Woodmender
Where branches crack and forest wounds deepen, the Woodmender kneels, palms pressed against wounded trunk. Sap wells and seeps into the incision, knitting live flesh from broken grain. In their calloused hands, they wield neither axe nor fire, but gentle reprieve. Each healed bark scar is a hymn—a living story of renewal, unfolding under the murmuring watch of the Vespin groves.
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