Torin drifts ashore from old Gaelic tides—thought to spring from Tóirín, “chief” or “watchtower”—and yet, like a scarlet‐crested torii rising from misty Japanese waters, the name seems to bow in quiet ceremony before every dawn it surveys. In that meeting of emerald cliffs and ink-brushed mountains, Torin carries the poise of a sentry who greets each century with composed eyes: stateside records have traced his footfalls since the early 1960s, never clamoring for the summit, but keeping a steady perch in the seven‐hundreds, as though content to guard the horizon rather than dominate it. Pronounced TOR-in, the two-syllable form moves cleanly—first a resonant drum, then a swift ripple—mirroring a temple bell answered by seaside wind. To choose Torin, then, is to offer a son a name that stands like cedar and stone: concise yet expansive, quietly authoritative, and forever attuned to the hush between waves and sky.
| Torin Thatcher - |
| Torin Yater-Wallace - |
| Torin Francis - |