Neverwinter Forest When I was a child, I heard voices

sólhárr moved through the forest with a reverence in his step, his weight almost silent on the thick blanket of pine needles and moss beneath him. here, beneath the thick arms of the evergreens, where only slivers of sun dared reach the ground, he felt the familiar pulse of home echoing in the shadows. the air was still, thick with the scent of earth and green life, yet alive with the softest whispers of the woods—the rustle of ferns, the soft clatter of a distant squirrel scurrying through branches.

he paused, breathing in the scent, letting it settle in his lungs as he observed the terrain with the watchful eyes of a guardian. somewhere nearby, he could hear the faint crackle of hooves over broken twigs. the deer herds thrived here, in this hidden world that cloaked and shielded them, just as his homeland had once been. here, with the sky barely visible through the needle-bound branches, he felt a rare peace, as if the forest itself was welcoming him back into its fold.

sólhárr moved on, weaving between trunks as thick as giants’ arms, his gaze falling upon the soft spots where young plants dared to reach for the scarce sun. a quiet nod of respect, a promise not to disturb them. this was their world, one that felt like it could have been his own; here he would walk softly and, perhaps, belong once again.