Neverwinter Forest snowtorn

the crisp winter air clung to sólhárr’s thick coat as he moved through the frost-covered glade, his lone golden eye scanning the quiet landscape. the snow beneath his paws crunched softly, the sound swallowed by the stillness of the morning. he carried with him the strength of purpose, his thoughts fixed on one wolf.

@Ylva.

she had spent the earliest hours of the morning trying to catch Seiðkona's eye. like a sly fox who sought something that was not its own. and so she had been given task, after task.

right now she went to go collect the bones of a kill that had been buried long ago.

the cold ground would be harsh against her paws, but they were already tattered by the lengths she had walked to come here.

only it was Hárkonungr she encountered first.

her features curled with a smile, more mischievous than it was sincere.

has Hárkonungr been looking for me? your Seiðkona sends me on fetch quests, like a little sister! she did not mean this in a good way, but she was amused by it all the same.

he let out a low, rumbling laugh, the sound carrying easily in the frosty air.

ah, my wife, he said, a teasing edge to his tone. she must be preparing for the wedding. you know of it, don’t you, ylva?

he stepped closer, his imposing frame towering above her, but his demeanor lightened by his humor. it seems she has found clever ways to keep you busy. or perhaps you’ve found clever ways to stay in her eye?

his gaze dropped momentarily to her worn paws, and a faint smirk tugged at his lips. though, it seems these tasks are not without their toll. is she working you too hard?

he knew his wife to be a riling little vixen. it was what he saw in her in the first place. if she had been working ylva hard, then so be it!

tag for thoughts

the wedding!

right! had...she said something of the wedding? ylva figured she would hear about it when she was allowed to be involved in it — and well, now she had heard it from his lips also!

either way it seemed she had learned of it.

i can say no such thing! what hawk weeps over the work given to them? she realizes now that she has called herself hawk. only because she had dared to use it so freely, so playful when she had been with @Luhtar — and the burning in her face is enough to turn her gaze away from the great northern king.

corners of his lips twitching into a pleased smile. her wit was as keen as her gaze, and he found himself more amused than irked.

after the solstice, he confirmed, his voice warm, the pride unmistakable. the new year will bring a union under the gods' watchful eyes. a time for renewal, for bonds forged stronger than steel.

his gaze lingered on her for a moment longer, thoughtful. the hawk, he echoed, his tone curious now. who has given you such a name? it suits you. sharp-eyed, fierce. always circling, never caught unaware.

he allowed a chuckle to rumble from his chest, his lone golden eye glinting with approval. it seems you wear it well, ylva. .

she wondered after this and what it might mean.

would it be only them wedded? would many wed? who all might be in attendence? she imagined these were questions better uttered to Seiðkona when she returned. the woman would surely not begrudge her if she was a few minutes late due to her own husband — or husband-to-be.

i collected it on my travels here. i told you my parents send only strong children out into the world. strong enough to make titles wherever they walk. a toothy and wild grin swept over her narrow features now. but it only matters to me what i am in the honor of forneskja. i only hope it might sound as good — and i will wear it as well.

with such teasing words, it was no wonder Seiðkona had treated her like a younger sibling.

sólhárr hummed low in his throat, the sound deep and contemplative as he watched her grin with that wild energy that seemed to define her.

ah, i see why she puts you to work, he said with a teasing lilt, his gaze steady on ylva. a hawk must always have purpose, lest she grow restless. and restless hawks tend to make mischief. perhaps seiðkona knows this better than most.

his ear flicked as he regarded her more seriously now, the amusement in his tone tempered by genuine curiosity. what is it you like to do, ylva? if the choice were yours—what tasks would bring you the most honor? what would you claim as your strength in forneskja?

could it be so?

had the foxdraped woman seen into her? ylva had been tired in her travels, had no energy to cause chaos where she walked. until she stayed in villages too long and had traded away her goods. then she had been like a fox in a hen house.

maybe that was her spirit, so it was better to fly and be a hawk.

making paths and sending your words into the world. forneskja should not hide where it is. we should let our roots grow deep and far. she told him now with a confidence. i am young, still. i have not seen as much of the world as i wish to and if i may spread forneskja's influence in doing so, then it is honor i will walk the world with.

and how many more moons might she have to do such before someone turned an eye upon her in searching? wives and mothers did not travel, did not go wide besides from their sides.

hárkonungr tilted his head slightly, considering her words, the fire of her conviction sparking something deep within him. she was young, bold, and spirited—qualities that would serve forneskja well, if properly directed.

then it is done, he rumbled, his voice steady, a touch of pride woven through the baritone. you will be a scout, ylva. the eyes and voice of forneskja beyond these wilds.

he stepped closer, his lone golden eye meeting hers. make the paths, spread our name. let the world know of forneskja's strength, its wisdom. you will carry our light far, but remember—always return.

a pause, his gaze softening. this is your honor now, hawk of forneskja. wear it well.