Neverwinter Forest Each morn we are born again

Íruna’s ears flicked at the sound of her name, eyes warm upon her leader. The faintest smile softened her expression as she inclined her head in return.

“The forest has been kind,” she replied, her voice warm but steady. “And I do what I can to repay it.” She glanced briefly at the bundle of yarrow she spoke through before looking back to him.

At his question, she stilled for a moment, her gaze shifting upward to the canopy above. Light filtered through the leaves in soft beams, dappling the forest floor around them.

“The spirits are quiet,” she said finally, her voice thoughtful. “But not absent. They linger, watching, waiting. The Máni... it speaks not with words, but with light, with shadow. It tells us to look closer, to see what we might overlook in our haste.”