Neverwinter Forest When I was a child, I heard voices

there was an allure to her— no doubt registered in sólhárr's mind. nothing lingered despite the shape of her body, the cress of the moon that paled her features. but when he looked up, there had been no moon. it was just them, two, spiraling in a dance like motion as they observed one another.

he could dance for hours, if this was the sort of eyes he'd be able to glance into. into the soul. her soul. he'd never been caputred in this manner. dauntless in his steps, he sought to place his nose into the nape of her neck, taking an inhale of her scent.

others lingered against her skin. more of them. whilst she feigned as a pretty dove, he pulled back and huffed. she was a pack wolf. taken, he presumed, then why did the words leave his lips— fríð mey.

a vision unfolded before him— a life, with a dove-like effervescence that she carried. the gods were kind to him, freya loomed over his shoulder, whispered, kissed him to life.