Neverwinter Forest dannsair sìthiche

sólhárr's brow arched higher, his curiosity sharpening as he took in the woman’s words. the forest’s voice—it was a claim not many dared to make, but her tone held conviction, a thread of something more beneath her polished exterior. he let her question linger in the crisp morning air, his ruby eyes narrowing as he considered her.

the forest speaks, he rumbled, the depth of his voice rolling like distant thunder. to those who listen. to those who seek. he took a deliberate step closer, his presence steady, unwavering. do you listen, then? do you seek?

his gaze flicked to her slender form, noting the graceful lines and the ember in her gaze. can you hunt, mend, pray? his voice was slow, measured, carrying the weight of something old and unyielding. spirits linger, guiding, testing. if it speaks to you, what does it say?