Neverwinter Forest tiny dots on an endless timeline

Hope was a thing that Melisande always seemed to have an abundance of. Hope for the future. Hope for the prosperity of those in her life. Hope that the gods would always shine brightly upon her and Sólhárr. Her hope was rarely misplaced, a blessing from the very gods she prayed to. 

All the hope in the world couldn't replace the almost motherly worry she often felt for her brother. He was strong and smart, but she also knew he would work himself to the bone for those that relied on him. Callyope was good for him in that regard. Always there would be another heart looking out for her fierce brother. Still, it had been a while since she had the chance to check in with the man. Melisande was ecstatic when he agreed to escort her to the Whispering Pools. 


Ég skulda þér, Melisande started, a soft smile pulling at her scarred lips. Their shared steps were relaxed, leisurely. You've worked so hard for this. Everyone has, She amended thinking warmly on all the wolves who helped them in the final leg of their journey. Smile turning melancholy, she gave the man an all-too-familiar look. 

I worry about you. That you work too much. That you don't pray enough. Her words held no accusation, only concern.