Neverwinter Forest Each morn we are born again

Íruna held his gaze as he stepped closer, his towering presence neither intimidating nor imposing but steady, grounding. She could see, now, the appeal of the man in the eyes of her Seiðkona.

“They are never wrong,” Íruna agreed, her voice low and even, though her lavender eyes gleamed with something warmer.

His next words gave her pause, his contemplative tone echoing the very thoughts she had carried since her arrival.

“They linger,” she said softly, her expression turning thoughtful. “Not with words, but with weight. As if they are watching, waiting for something to unfold.” She looked back to him.

Her tail swayed slightly, a gentle motion that betrayed her comfort in his presence. “Tell me, Sólhárr,” she asked, her tone light but sincere. “Do you think the gods call us to where we are most needed, or where they wish us to be?” It was not a question meant to challenge, but to simply know.