Neverwinter Forest you're so art deco,

trade: spiritualist

following, loyal, the king. his own personal shadow. eyes scanned the clearing as they emerged, breaking through the treeline. quick to glace upwards, the canopy strong, though slinking away to allow space for the night and all of her stars to shine through. the máni would approve of this place, he knew, as his gaze finally settled upon the boulders and the pale flowers that encircled it.

a place of worship, he thought. somewhere he could visit when he prayed. his ears turned to the king, then, and his head followed suit. eyes were careful, though something swam deep within them. a gratitude, maybe, for allowing rökkur to gaze upon such a beautiful place. so deeply entwined with the spirits and the æsir.

sólhárr's tone garnered respect. he approached this place with an honour that rökkur could not help but worry that others may not appreciate. the shadow was not an anxious man, but it was things like this that he held dear to him. the moonflowers, the king had said. surviving through every season. and rökkur felt a sense of kinship to the tunglblóm, at that. strength, resilience, beauty. he nodded.

this place, he murmured, looking from forneskja's hárkonungr to the boulder, to the petals, to the break in the canopy. eyes wide and shining. admiring. have you a name for it? part of rökkur hoped that he did not, so that he himself may have the honour of bestowing a title upon this hideaway. a connection between himself and the máni.

but, if it did, rökkur would respect it. present it to his goddess. find his faith within it.