Neverwinter Forest dunestag

sólhárr stood tall beneath the open sky, the biting wind pulling at his thick fur as clouds churned above, threatening snow. his lone golden eye scanned the horizon, sharp and searching. he tilted his head back and let out a low, commanding howl, the sound rolling like thunder across the frozen expanse.

@Cicero Dvořák

his voice carried through the frigid air, resolute and expectant, leaving no doubt that he intended to be heard. the weight of what needed to be said hung heavy on him, but the hárkonungr was nothing if not patient. he waited, his breath misting in the cold, his stance steady and unwavering.

the days had been kind to him. no longer was he skin and bones, thanks to the kindness of many within forneskja. so many offerings had been laid at his feet, all accepted. never had he felt so grateful, or so wanted. stark was his image now; his sides no longer sunken in, ribs no longer on display. 

his eyes seemed bright, keener. and his energy had greatly improved; his seiðkona mended his leg to the point where it wouldn't ache as much, wouldn't hinder him as much. 

and so, he hadn't been idle. out scouring the forest for herbs, to stash away in their collection. learning, listening, watching—as a man who hungered for knowledge, he'd been fed very well. 

cicero was happier. satisfied, fulfilled; he had promised to make the most of his second chance, and he was fulfilling said promise. 

there was a call for him. sólhárrs deep voice, summoning him. pulling him away from his walk, guiding him toward the man's location. and there he stood with a strength cicero could only hope to possess one day. 

he steps into the sunlight, his cloak of dusk stark against the white backdrop. with a respectful bow of his head, he spoke. "you called for me, hárkonungr?"

cicero, sólhárr greeted, his lone golden eye steady as it regarded the dusk-cloaked figure before him. the young wolf looked better, stronger, a testament to the resilience that had brought him this far. sólhárr gave a small nod of approval, the faintest twitch of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

you’ve been keeping busy, i see. how have you been? his voice was low and gruff, but there was genuine interest in the question.

he stepped closer, his towering frame casting a long shadow. tell me, what have you learned since joining us? the weight of his gaze was unrelenting but not unkind. sólhárr sought to know more than cicero’s progress—he sought insight, understanding, the kind that might reveal whether the young wolf truly understood the path laid before him.

"yes, there has been much to do. much to learn." the ink-kissed man hummed. stepping closer with a limp less noticeable, before he took a seat before the man. he would have smile something proud if he was capable—it was nice to have his efforts noticed. 

eyes of the finest silver scan the landscape for a brief moment, before settling on sólhárr. a pleasant light within him, as he's begun to enjoy the man's company. "white sylph has guided my hand in healing. has taught me where to find the finest herbs, and how to utilize them." voice succinct and precise, but perhaps his tone held some warmth. 

"it is that path I wish to take here. to heal." there would be no other path for him to take.

sólhárr did not speak at once. he listened, studying the man before him in a silence that was not cold, but thoughtful—weighted with the burden of leadership, of understanding what it meant when a soul laid themselves bare before him.

he regarded cicero with a tempered calm, head tilting faintly as the other spoke of the white sylph. the name was familiar now, oft whispered in reverence across their lands, and he had seen with his own eyes the patience in cicero's tending, the knowledge growing beneath ink-stained paws.

then it is a good path, he said at last, voice low and even, the warmth there beneath the surface like fire behind stone. and one we have need for.

he glanced toward the horizon, the winds stirring the ridgeline. we are not a pack untouched by wound or war. to have a healer among us, one with the patience to learn from the land and from those before him, is no small gift.

his blue-gold eyes returned to cicero now, steady. if that is where your heart lies, then i will see it done. speak with white sylph again. tell her sólharrr gives his blessing for your training to continue. you will walk as a mender in our ranks. a pause. then, quieter, and may you be the balm we sorely need.