Neverwinter Forest get on up again,

sólhárr’s gaze softened, though his stance remained firm, a steadfast presence against the weight of luhtar’s unease. the younger wolf’s words carried the echoes of his northern storms, the shadows of a past that clung tight and refused to let go.

the storm stays with you, yes, he said slowly, his voice like the low rumble of distant thunder, steady and deliberate. but so does the strength it gave you. you carry it, luhtar, as much as it carries you.

he paused, letting his words settle like snow upon the forest floor. the woods of forneskja are not like the north. they do not rage against the world; they adapt. they are strong, yes, but resilient. life finds its way through the roots, through the canopy, weaving its strength into the tapestry.

his amber gaze turned toward the towering trees around them, his voice quieting to something almost reverent. if the storm comes, we will not be still. forneskja bends, but it does not break. it is not stillness you see here, luhtar. it is preparation, a quiet resolve, a different kind of strength.

he turned back to the younger wolf, his eyes gleaming with something older, something wise. you fear the storm, but you do not run from it. that is how we will endure. together, through the storms and the quiet, we adapt.

sólhárr let the silence linger, watching luhtar carefully, allowing the young warrior the space to wrestle with the truths that had been spoken. he did not press further; instead, he let the strength of his words fill the space between them.