Haunted Wood there is a light

sólhárr’s gaze lingered on her as she turned, watching the sway of her tail as she moved down the riverbank. his silence hung in the air, weighted with something he couldn’t name. there were no farewells where he came from, no final words—just actions, movements that held meaning.

he swallowed, chest tight with a peculiar ache, then called out, voice rough with an unfamiliar softness. far vel, peach.

the norse words rolled off his tongue, old and rooted, fitting like a mantle of his homeland he still wore proudly. he watched her disappear along the river's curve, the quiet pressing against him as he stood there alone, wondering at the strange, lingering warmth she left in her wake.