Neverwinter Forest get on up again,

Luhtar lay sprawled in the comfortable mess of his den, the soft rise and fall of his chest the only movement as the first light of dawn began to creep in. The warmth of sleep clung to him, his dreams as undisturbed as the still morning air. A low hum drifted into his subconscious, pulling at the edges of his rest. It wasn’t until the pointed clearing of a throat followed that his ears twitched, his mind sluggishly registering the sound. Then, a voice—firm, dry, and unmistakably Sólhárr’s—cut through the haze.

Luhtar’s eyes shot open, startled by his gravelly words. In his haste, he sniffed sharply, inhaling a bit of dry bedding. The resulting sneeze echoed in the den, a sharp, undignified sound that left him blinking groggily as he sat up.

Still half-asleep, he squinted toward the silhouette standing at the entrance, the soft morning light outlining Sólhárr’s imposing frame. A groan escaped him as he began to haul his large frame upright, muttering incoherent complaints under his breath. Something about “early” and “shouldn’t be allowed” slipped out, though none of it was clear.

Finally, after a few stumbling steps, Luhtar emerged from the mouth of his den, the chill of the morning air doing little to help his grogginess. He blinked against the light, his yellow eyes settling on Sólhárr with a look that was equal parts sheepish and annoyed. He stood there for a moment, swaying slightly as if still trying to shake off the last remnants of sleep.

“I… sleep. Now, wake,” he mumbled eventually, his voice rough and thick with his northern accent, as if that alone was enough to answer Sólhárr’s unspoken judgment. "We patrol?" He blinked curiously.