Neverwinter Forest get on up again,

Luhtar's strides grew more leisurely, his yellow eyes following Solharr’s gaze upward to the canopy above. The Hárkonungr’s words carried a weight that filled the air around them, heavier than the quiet wind threading through the branches.

Witnesses. Spirits. Guardians. The ideas were foreign to Luhtar, who had always seen the world as something to be fought for, claimed, and endured. But there was something about Solharr’s voice that made him pause, his skepticism held at bay.

His gaze drifted to the ancient tree Solharr indicated, its gnarled trunk thick and scarred with countless seasons.

“I hear the wind,” he said after a pause, his tone thoughtful. “The leaves. The branches moving. But...” His voice trailed off, and his brow furrowed slightly. “If there’s more, maybe I’m not meant to hear it. Not yet.”

“This place is yours,” he said finally, his voice gruff but carrying an undertone of respect. “You understand it in ways I don’t. But if the spirits want me to listen... I’ll try. For you. For Forneskja.”