Neverwinter Forest May I stand unshaken

for @Solharr @Callyope

A dull throbbing pain radiated from his side, a sharp, insistent ache that felt as though something had torn into him—deep, savage. He felt cold, a chill that settled deep in his bones, rattling his teeth. He opened his eyes, but the world around him was a blur of shadows and dim light, the edges of his reality wavering like smoke.

His mouth was dry, an acrid taste of bile and blood clinging to his tongue. His throat burned as he tried to swallow, but nothing came—only the hollow ache of thirst.

Pain surged through him, sharp and jagged, pulling him back to the present. A gash tore deep into his side, its raw edges exposed. Torn flesh, muscle.

His vision swam as he weakly tried to rise, his legs unsteady, trembling beneath him. The world tilted, spinning away from him, and he collapsed back down with a groan, his body hitting the ground with a sickening thud.

Somewhere in the blur, a figure moved, a presence near him. Then, a voice. Another voice. Two voices. His eyelids fluttered weakly as he drifted back to unconsciousness.

sólhárr's ears twisted toward the noise, his body stiffening as the ruckus ahead broke through the otherwise quiet path they traveled. instinct flared hot in his chest, and without hesitation, he moved to place himself between callyope and whatever lay ahead.

behind me, he murmured, voice low but firm, his fiery eyes scanning the path as he moved forward, muscles coiled like a spring.

it didn’t take long to spot the source of the commotion—a wolf, battered and bloody, sprawled on the ground. the stranger’s breaths came shallow, his body trembling as though he’d been dragged from the edge of death. sólhárr’s jaw tightened as he stepped closer, his stance protective but not threatening.

he’s hurt bad, sólhárr said, glancing over his shoulder to callyope. his gaze softened slightly when it landed on her. elska… can you help him?

he knew her skill, her heart, and while his instinct was to protect, he trusted her to mend what could be mended. he only hoped this wolf’s luck hadn’t already run out.

embarrassed that i missed this smh feel free to double tag me next time <3

something.

churning, burning, in the unknown. her heart lingered somewhere near her throat. it is only sólhárr's strength that kept her steady.

she is silent.

she stays comfortably behind him. not afraid to let him lead them now, to be her warrior and shield.

yet it is her heart that finally softens as she glimpses the scene. sólhárr's question lingered heavy in the air. amber gaze examined him closely. she did not wish to do any work out here but...

if you think it safe to move him, it would be better to tend to him at heimtré... she told her beloved softly. she wished to reach for the silver man now, to search him and see if he was fever touched in any way she could tell.

I DIDNT WANT TO BOTHER </3 noted for future though! <3

His head swam.

Instinct urged him to fight, to lash out before they could harm him.

But his body would not obey.

He managed only a low, trembling sound, barely a growl, as he struggled to focus on their forms.

Stark’s breath wheezed softly. These wolves were unknown, and that should have unsettled him, stirred some coil of distrust. Perhaps that was the blood loss talking, or some desperate hope clawing at his rational mind.

His world narrowed to a pinpoint of light, flickering before him. Gritting his teeth, he tried to speak, to demand something—he didn’t know what. No words came, just a rasp of breath and a faint twitch of his paw.

The last thing he felt before the blackness claimed him once more was the subtle shift beneath him.

sólhárr stood steady, his dark gaze fixed on the injured white male before him, his muscles coiled with quiet tension. callyope’s words, soft yet certain, drifted to him, and his ear flicked to acknowledge her. she spoke with reason, her compassion tempered by caution—a balance he admired.

he dipped his muzzle slightly toward her, a sign of agreement. you are right, my woman, he rumbled, his voice low and resolute. heimtré would be better for him. safer than out here.

his gaze flickered to the pale wolf, examining him with the sharp precision of a seasoned hunter. sólhárr could see the toll the injuries had taken, the faint rise and fall of his chest the only sign of life. the growl, weak and trembling, did not faze him.

i will take him as far as the edge, he added, his tone leaving no room for argument. but i cannot step into heimtré. their lands are not mine to tread, but yours. there was no bitterness in his words, only a matter-of-fact acceptance of boundaries.

without waiting for further discussion, sólhárr moved forward, careful and deliberate as he lowered his broad frame beside the injured male. he shifted his weight, preparing to lift and carry him. though his strength was formidable, the task demanded care—this was no prey to haul without thought.

now was not the time to feel the swelling of her heart and a fever all her own.

there is a man here, injured. one who would require much tending to. yet she thought with the help of @Iruna it all could be mended.

the man was weak but she would not have him find death.

she could not stomach the thought.

i understand, she whispered with a quick kiss to his cheek. allowing him the space to maneuver the injured and bring him forth. she pushed ahead their path to grab a pelt for the man to lay upon when he arrived.

moss gathered. a call to iruna to instruct her of what was occurring — she left it unsaid that her presence might be appreciated.

the scent of herbs and blood tinged the air.

Without hesitation, Íruna gathered what few supplies she had with her, tucking them into the rabbit skin sack she carried. Her paws moved swiftly across the forest floor, the scent of blood growing stronger with every step she took.

By the time she reached the clearing where the Heimtré stood, she caught sight of Callyope arranging moss and a pelt.

“What’s happened?” Íruna asked as she approached. She glanced toward the source of the blood-scent—a pale, battered figure draped over the broad back of Sólhárr. Her stomach tightened at the sight of the injuries, but she kept her composure.

She met Sólhárr’s eyes briefly, her confidence clear. “You’ve done enough to bring him here,” she said firmly, her voice steady. “I can take him the rest of the way.” She positioned herself beside Sólhárr, her strength evident in the ease with which she adjusted her stance. “Shift him onto me,” she instructed carefully of her Leader, her tail flicking once as she prepared herself. Her muscles tensed beneath her thick coat, ready to take the weight.

When the injured man was carefully transferred to her, Íruna bore his weight without complaint. She felt the strain but didn’t let it show. She wouldn’t risk jostling the man more than necessary. Reaching the bed, she crouched slowly, lowering him with the utmost care until his battered form rested on the soft moss and pelts. She adjusted his position, ensuring his breathing wasn’t restricted and that the worst of his injuries were accessible for treatment.

“He’s ready,” she spoke as calmly and quietly as she could. While Callyope began to tend to the injured man, she returned to where she'd left Sólhárr to fetch her satchel of herbs.

last stark post for now! dont want him to fall inactive LMAO

Stark drifted on the cusp of consciousness, the world flickering in and out of hazy shapes and muted colors. A dull roar pulsed through his ears—whether blood rushing or distant voices, he couldn’t be sure. Every instinct told him to fight, but pain kept him tethered, forcing him still.

He became vaguely aware of movement. His body, heavy and cold, was shifted from one set of shoulders to another. The scent of moss and damp earth replaced the bitter tang of dried blood clinging to his nostrils. Low voices murmured around him—warm, firm, reassuring. They didn’t sound hostile.

He tried to open his eye, tried to speak, but his tongue felt thick, his throat stripped raw. A weak rasp escaped, barely audible over his ragged breathing. Someone touched his side, prompting a jolt of agony that ripped a groan from his chest. Though he wanted to lash out, bare fangs to defend himself, he just... couldn’t. His limbs wouldn’t listen.

His mouth tasted of bile, his head swam in a flood of feverish heat.

sólhárr moved with precision, his powerful strides steady under the weight of the battered white male draped across his back. the scent of blood hung thick in the air, mingling with the faint tang of herbs from iruna’s preparations. his amber gaze flicked to callyope ahead, her small form bustling with purpose as she arranged the bedding for their unexpected charge.

he did not linger on sentiment, though her quick kiss lingered like a ghost against his cheek. now was not the time.

with careful control, he eased the injured male toward iruna, his muscles shifting beneath his coat as he bore the weight with ease. her firm voice brought a nod of approval from him, and he adjusted his stance as she positioned herself to take the burden. together, they shifted the man onto her back, sólhárr’s movements deliberate to avoid further harm.

when iruna settled the man onto the prepared bed of moss and pelts, sólhárr stepped back, his eyes scanning over the scene. his focus lingered on the injured figure, then flicked to iruna and callyope. both were capable, their work methodical.

without a word, he turned to fetch the remaining herbs that would be needed. his jaws closed around the bundle, the sharp tang of the plants sharp against his tongue as he returned. placing them beside iruna, he let out a low huff, his body taut with readiness to defend or assist further if needed.

they would mend this man. and then, they would see what purpose he might serve.