Neverwinter Forest When I was a child, I heard voices

the woman before him was a peculiar sight—creamy fur marked with ginger, a contrast to the shadows that enveloped them. her eyes, fiery and unyielding, reminded him of embers that refused to fade. he stood firm, furs bristling at her entrance. he was not one to take likeness to being surprised.

heill, he greeted, his voice a quiet rumble, the norse word rolling out with an old strength. his head inclined slightly, acknowledging her presence but keeping his form rooted, solid, a figure born from the earth and tradition.

he took his time, measuring her—lean and tall with oversized paws, a thick coat that seemed to swallow her frame. there was a contradiction in her, strength hidden beneath fragility, a spirit that seemed as fleeting as the light through the canopy above. he dared take a step closer to her, watching. he liked how she looked.

yet he remained silent beyond his greeting, observing, allowing her presence to speak as much as her words might.