Neverwinter Forest at the garden

Íruna listened intently, her lavender eyes steady on Callyope. The title—Jurtvörður—rolled off her companion’s tongue, carrying a weight that Íruna couldn’t ignore. Seer.

She inclined her head, a gesture of acknowledgment and gratitude, though she couldn't hide the excitement that sparked within her eyes. “You honor me with such titles,” she smiled. “And with such an invitation.”

Íruna’s gaze met Callyope’s, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the edges of her mouth. “I did not come to these woods expecting to find such welcome. Yet here you are, speaking of trust and companionship as if I have already earned it.” She paused, her tone softening slightly. “Perhaps the gods whisper your name as loudly as they whisper mine.” Her last sentence more a whisper to herself, a quiet observation, than directly spoken.

She glanced briefly at the cache of herbs she had built, the product of her work thus far, before returning her focus to Callyope. “If my skills can serve Forneskja in the way you say, then I will walk with you, beneath the Heimtré and wherever else you ask.”