Neverwinter Forest (cloud) come shove it, shove it, shove it

within the mánilundur / moongrove | img ref
— note that in the center of the grove there is a large boulder circled by moonflowers

trade: spiritualist
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no longer a shadow. the guardian had dug out his den, having up-rooted a single moonflower to plant within the front of his den, a testament to the máni dama. now, having moved from his den to the edge of the clearing, he took a breath. a quiet prayer was said before he dipped into the grove. glowing with moonlight.

halló, tunglhjarta, he murmured, padding towards the boulder that sat in the middle of the glade, ensuring that his pawsteps did not disturb the blooms at its base. þú hefur gert vel. þú heldur skógi sterkum. vel gert. gentle praise delivered to the heart.

he lowered his head, then, craning his neck to nose at the flowers. og þú líka. fallegur. máni dama er stolt. a smile upon his face. perhaps being a guardian, a protector, was his purpose, rather than being a warrior. this was what peace felt like.

rökkur thought back to @Solharr, then. thankful for this gift. this purpose.

yoink

It was a bobcat — he hadn't recognized the scent until he found its scat, and then the memories all came back to him. He'd hunted just one in the past, not because it'd been causing trouble, but because their pelts were worth a lot of meals to the right people.

He hadn't ended up killing it. He didn't think they'd have to kill this one, either, but he thought it best to see it removed before whelping season began.

The trail led him deeper into the woodland than he'd usually go. It kept disappearing and picking up several yards away — going up trees and traveling through the canopies, he'd realized. And it was during one of these disappearances that his ears swiveled toward the sound of a familiar voice. And there, up ahead, was an unusual glow.

Abandoning the trail, Catamaran trotted off to see the sunlight.

"Am I interrupting something?" he asked, bemused and just a little put off by the scene. But he liked Rokkur, and he wondered if, perhaps, the man just needed to get out and hunt a little more.

trade: spiritualist

his ears, primed and attentive, picked up catamarans' steps before his words. though relaxed, mellowed, safe within the mánilundur, he knew that this was a sacred place. a place where tales and stories ebbed and flowed through the canopy; where máni's gaze shone, wise and watchful. and so his defenses were high. alert.

but he made no move. a twitch of his ear when northern words flowed to him, though, signified his attention while he continued to nose about the flowers, checking for any sign of damage, corruption, disease. you are not. he confirmed. tone soft, almost comforted and cozied by the glade, by the tall trees that encircled them.

i am doing my duty to the moongrove, rökkur said. a confidence laced his tongue: one of purpose, of finality. he had, after all this time, found his calling. not a warrior, but a lorekeeper. a religious man. tending to her. her heart keeps the surrounding forest alive. you see how it brims with life? a factual edge to his words. a true belief.

though they may not be true within the laws of nature, he believed them to be so. he looked back at the pale man, then, gesturing him forwards with a tail sweep and a nod. that is her doing. her will. strengthened by the moon and the loyalties to her. he looked over at him, then. a sense of knowing glittered beyond scarlet hues.

i will understand if you wish not to celebrate her, he pointed out. but she is my belief; my support; my life. and so i wish for you to understand me.

a bit ranty, he was. but a topic of such personal importance was worth it.

The focus with which Rokkur... did whatever he was doing... left Catamaran feeling a little out-of-place. He wondered if he'd interrupted a fervent prayer, but instead, found that this was (allegedly) the gods calling on Rokkur rather than the other way around. Though he gave few signs of it, Catamaran was dubious. He looked around when prompted, and decided that this area did look a little more vibrant than other parts of the forest. That made sense; there was a break in the otherwise impenetrable canopy.

The bounty hunter assumed that this had been here long before Solharr and Rokkur had moved in. That, perhaps, lightning had struck a tree here, long ago, and left a dead space for the sun to shine through. If it was the work of the gods, they'd needed no help from wolves to accomplish it, nor to tend it in the aftermath.

"I am open to understanding," Catamaran replied; this diplomacy cost him nothing, even if he felt Rokkur would be better served with a harsh dose of reality. If Rokkur wanted to celebrate the moon, there was likely very little Catamaran could do to change his mind. "How did you come to know this?" he asked, genuinely curious. "About this glade."

trade: spiritualist

catamaran's acceptance was appreciated. rökkur smiled, then, inviting him closer, should he wish. and he asked, then, how the mánilundur had been founded, and the guardian was more than keen to tell the tale: it was sólhárr, he begun. he called for me within a few moments of stumbling upon this grove. i believe he may have known that it was a place of spiritual connection. and, just perhaps, it had reminded him of rökkur.

he granted me guardianship, and i am the one who gave her the title of mánilundur, a pride ran through his tone as he spoke. he sat himself down, now, tail flicking. he was finished with his inspection of the moonflowers, and now he simply wanted to enjoy the ambience, as well as the conversation. it is a great honour, for me to be deemed worthy of protecting, archiving such a place, alongside being sögumaðr.

and he looked to the blonde man, then. scanning his features, his red gaze. watching him with an almost studious intensity, searching his face for what his beliefs may be. and, as if he had gathered his opinion from some sort of factual evidence, he spoke: you do not believe, do you? and he stood up, then. a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. that is alright. máni does not show herself to all. only those who want to listen.

and, in the opinion of the sögumaðr, catamaran did not seem to be one of her listeners.