Neverwinter Forest deepest forest, darkest wood

A man.

Frostborn, dressed to hide among the snowfields as easily as Vairë might slide into a field of wheat and never be seen again. She met his gaze with red rims, blinking almost sleepily.

I greet you. She croaked in a soft reply,  sore throat trying to swallow around her grief. The longer she looked at the man, the more she felt she knew him.

I know your face. The smell too, the crispness of winterice, a claim.

You are of my sister’s village.