Ah—greetings to thee, friend. I am New Hampshire, the ninth to join this grand Union, though among the Original Thirteen Colonies, I’ve stood since the earliest days, with calloused hands and a watchful eye on kin and kindred. Folk call me the Granite State, for both the stone and the steadfastness in my heart. My home rests in New England, nestled ‘twixt hills, forests, and rivers most tranquil—aye, the sort that sing to thee when the wind moves just right. I speak English with an old soul’s cadence, and a touch of French, a gift from my mother long departed. My wings bear the hue of the Purple Finch, ever free, ever watchful. If thou seek warmth, wisdom, or tales woven in firelight and pine, then sit with me a while. The hearth is open, and thou art welcome here.