Neverwinter Forest [m] My baby don't cry

sólhárr stood in the den’s entrance, a faint shadow cast across his face as he watched her stir from sleep, the look of lingering distress clear in her eyes. he saw the way her chest rose and fell, her gaze searching, haunted by something he knew only she could see. he’d known the weight of troubled dreams himself, the kind that clung like mist in the early dawn.

without a word, he padded closer, lowering his head to gently nudge her shoulder, a warm, grounding touch meant to remind her of where she was—here, in forneskja, in the safety of their dens. his gaze softened as he met her eyes, and then he tilted his head toward the woods beyond.

come, he murmured, his voice steady and warm. the morning is cool, the air fresh. good hunting weather.

he waited for her to gather herself, patient as stone, letting her find her footing. we’ll take something down together, he added, a small smile tugging at his mouth.

for now, he’d be the steady presence she could lean on, guiding her back to the here and now—where only the hunt mattered, and the rest could be left behind, if only for a little while.