Neverwinter Forest where the moon sets

sólhárr listened in the stillness of the moongrove, the weight of rökkur’s words settling over him like the quiet of freshly fallen snow. his breath escaped in a low hum, thoughtful, contemplative. yes, he rumbled, his voice carrying the warmth of agreement, that is best.

he glanced toward the canopy above, where the máni gazed down upon them, steadfast and watchful. the gods were distant, rökkur said, and yet their influence lingered in the spaces between choices and consequences. sólhárr nodded, feeling the truth in the lorekeeper’s words.

she carries much, my callyope, he admitted, his voice softer now, a rare vulnerability threading through the usual strength. i see her devotion. it burns bright. but even the strongest flames can be smothered if not tended. his gaze flickered back to rökkur, and a faint smile curved his lips. your counsel is well-taken, seiðmaður.

there was no shame in seeking guidance, not for matters of the spirit, nor for those of the heart. he considered rökkur’s humor with a glint of his own, the corners of his eyes crinkling ever so slightly. perhaps the gods care not for the squabbles of mortals, he mused, but balance begins in small places, does it not?

sólhárr stepped back then, his tail swaying once in quiet gratitude. i will speak with her. thank you, rökkur, he said, his tone resolute, though the edges held a note of appreciation for the seiðmaður. you have given me much to think on.

exit sólhárr