Neverwinter Forest of weeping willow trees

hárkonungr's eyes narrowed slightly as he listened, skepticism flickering across his features like a shadow. a woman, catamaran said. a warrior-girl. the words hung in the air, and sólhárr found himself wondering—was it pity driving the bounty hunter? or something closer to infatuation?

hún myndi borða af disknum þínum, sólhárr repeated under his breath, his tone even, though there was a faint edge of curiosity. his gaze lingered on catamaran, sharp and unyielding. a warrior with a broken leg, he said, more to himself than to catamaran. and you think she will heal here.

he tilted his head slightly, blue eyes gleaming as he scrutinized the man before him. is her leg treatable? the question was blunt, though not unkind. the last thing forneskja needs is a wolf who cannot stand or hunt for herself. i trust your judgment, catamaran, but only if you’re certain she can recover.

he paused, his gaze unwavering. if you believe she has strength enough to walk again, then she may stay. but i’ll leave her care to you. seek callyope to pray for her, she will aid you.

sólhárr’s tail swayed once, a gesture of finality as he waited for catamaran’s response, his mind already turning over the possibilities. a warrior with a broken leg could be either a burden or a blessing—only time would tell which.

her life will be your responsibility.