Neverwinter Forest Each morn we are born again

for @Solharr

Íruna’s voice carried softly through the trees, a lilting melody that rose and fell with the rhythm of her steps. The song was an old one, a hymn of her people, its words a quiet tribute to the gods and the land.

With her jaws gently holding a bundle of freshly picked herbs, Íruna padded toward the small cache she had dug beneath the roots of her ancient tree.

She stopped, her lavender eyes lifting to see Sólhárr stepping through the underbrush. A patrol, it seemed, though his presence still caught her off guard.

Íruna blinked, then quickly adjusted her posture, dipping her head slightly in acknowledgment as her humming trailed off. “Hárkonungr,” she greeted.

Her tail swayed lightly, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her mouth as she moved to fall into step with the large brute. “The forest has been generous today,” she added, gesturing briefly to the herbs. “Plenty of yarrow to fill my stores.”