The Heartwood Slowly tears you apart

sólhárr nodded in agreement, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest beginning to steady as the thrill of the hunt ebbed away. he bent over the buck’s lifeless form, his jaws and paws moving with practiced efficiency to strip it into portions. the work was precise, reverent even, for the kill was more than sustenance; it was a gift from the wild, a connection to the spirits of forneskja.

you honor me with your words, he said, his tone humble but steady as he glanced at the tundra wolf. and you are no lesser. your strength matches the wilds themselves.

when the work was nearly done, sólhárr straightened, his oceanic eyes meeting kigipigak’s. forneskja is in need of hunters, he offered after a beat of silence, voice calm but edged with purpose. strong warriors, such as yourself. those who understand the land and the hunt. you would find your place among us, if you wished it.

he gestured toward the direction of neverwinter forest with a subtle nod. we take home there, beneath the shade of ancient trees. a good home, where the spirits are near, and kin float like whispers on the wind. his words carried weight, but there was no pressure in them—only the truth of his belief in forneskja’s purpose and the bond they could share.

women there can make pelts from this hide. my wife, in particular.