Deepwood Weald in my world,

sólhárr’s gaze roamed over her, noting the rich auburn of her coat, patterned like the marks of a badger—a striking blend of strength and refinement. her violet eyes were a rare, delicate beauty, softened further by the pale flowers woven through her fur. she bore a lineage that he recognized as powerful, good blood that flowed from the spirit daughter of urðr herself. pride stirred in him, as he thought of what this meant for his forneskja, for the roots they were planting, for the future they were forging.

yngvi eklund, he murmured, savoring the sound of her name, letting it settle with a sense of respect. her journey to him was no accident; there was purpose, guided by something beyond them both. a fine bloodline you carry—urðr’s spirit lives within you, he added, admiration in his tone. your journey is no small thing. forneskja welcomes those who walk with destiny in their steps.

he nodded, an approving smile hinting at the corners of his mouth. my seiðkona will be pleased, he continued, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. she’s long awaited a spirit daughter to walk beside her, to learn and to grow. sólhárr could already picture his elska, her joy at a young soul of such promise entering the fold, another thread to be woven into the fabric of their land’s magic.

he inclined his head slightly, his voice softened with solemnity. forneskja was meant for those like you, who have seen loss yet still walk with purpose. come, he gestured, turning back toward the heart of his lands. your path lies here now. let us honor the journey that has brought you.