Neverwinter Forest tasklane

the air was crisp, the cold biting but familiar, a companion to the weight in his chest. he searched for stærk , his golden eye scanning the tree-lined horizon, sharp and unyielding.

when he paused, his breath rolled from his muzzle in steady clouds, a faint growl rumbling in his throat. @Stærk, he called, his voice low but carrying through the stillness. come to me. we must speak.

his gaze narrowed, his patience thin but his intent resolute. the season turned, and with it came decisions that could not wait.

stærk emerges from behind a cluster of frost-laden pines, his pale coat blending with the snow that clings to the branches overhead. the faintest limp still plagues him, a reminder of wounds not fully healed.

he hears sólhárr’s summons and offers no haste. his single eye takes in the northerner—tall, formidable, the cold making no dent in his resolve. stærk draws closer, stopping a respectful distance away, his breath a thin plume in the frigid air.

you called, he says.

the faint limp did not escape him, but he made no mention of it—stærk was here, and that was what mattered.

stærk, he began, his voice low, carrying the weight of purpose. i have a task for you. callyope and i are to be wed, and the wolves east of the vale must know.

he stepped forward, the snow crunching beneath his paws. carry the invitation. let them know they are welcome. their presence will honor the union.

sólhárr’s gaze softened, if only slightly. rest before you go if the road is too far. but it must be done soon—the season does not wait for wolves like us.

stærk’s single eye flickers with mild surprise, though he does not dwell on it long. he dips his head, acknowledging the significance of sólhárr’s request, but his posture remains guarded. the looming presence of his own unhealed injuries goes unaddressed.

very well, he concedes after a pause. i will see it done.

he glances toward the vale’s perimeter, already weighing the distance in his mind, the wintry challenges that lie ahead.

i need little rest, he adds, voice quiet. the road is always long, but i’ve faced worse. you’ll have word delivered—soon.

he nodded, approval clear in the firm line of his jaw. good, stærk, he rumbled, his golden eye steady on the other wolf. you are dependable. i will see you soon, once your task is done.

he stepped back slightly, his massive frame shifting in the snow. may the road favor you, he added, a rare blessing in his low voice. and may the season’s bite find no hold on you.

with that, sólhárr turned, his stride deliberate as he left the weight of the task in stronger paws. there was much to prepare, and little time to waste.

stærk inclines his head once more, a curt gesture of acknowledgment rather than genuine warmth. his single eye follows sólhárr’s departure, lingering on the broad sweep of the northerner’s shoulders as he fades into the snowy glade.

he stands in silence, letting the winter hush press against him. the task is clear. already, his mind charts the routes, the miles of frozen earth that lie ahead.

dependable, am i… he mutters under his breath, a quiet thought for no ears but his own. bitterness, pride—he cannot quite parse which stirs him more. but if there is a debt to repay, he will do so in his own way.

exit stark