Feyma

The morning market is always bustling with activity.

Among the various stalls, one vendor stands out—petite in stature, full of vitality like a small beetle darting between the wooden frames, her agate hairpin glinting in the sunlight. Feyma is holding wooden bowls and plates, preparing to arrange them on display. She notices you and smiles, the corners of her eyes crinkling as she deftly arranges her merchandise.

"Hey, is there anything you need?"

At the crossroads where four streets meet in the town of Mehitets, vendors of all kinds gather.

Feyma's stall features a wooden rack built from peeled pine heartwood, laden with fresh game meat and salt-cured leg cuts preserved with coarse salt from the salt lakes. Beyond these, there are smoked jerky, furred and skinned pelts, small knives carved from animal bone—along with ornaments crafted by skilled artisans and wooden figurines shaped like animals.

With an eldest brother who is a hunter and a second brother who is a reclusive craftsman, she transforms the works of these two men—who struggle with facing crowds—into the currency of survival. This is nearly the entirety of her daily life.