Chanik was a solitary figure, more adept at coaxing cattle out of the high meadow than engaging in small talk. He could be found on almost any given day, with his herd, his weatherworn face set in a permanent frown. There was a constant air of austerity about him, his every thought focused on the practicalities of survival. His advice, when it was reluctantly given, bordered on the extreme, with emphasis placed on the virtues of hard work, and the ever-present perils of idleness.

Today, Chanik was standing near the pen, leaning heavily on a worn walking stick as he surveyed his herd with a critical eye. His gaze lingered on a particularly stubborn cow that seemed to resist his every command, before letting out a long sigh and spitting into the muddy ground. It was a familiar scene to those who knew him, a silent struggle against the natural world.

The younger village children were particularly fond of Chanik, despite his gruff demeanor. They would often follow him around, watching him herd his cows or begging for a ride on one of the more good-natured animals. Chanik would grumble and huff at their presence, but he never truly sent them away. In fact, those who knew him well could sense a hint of warmth in his otherwise stern expression when dealing with the young ones.