Neverwinter Forest Each morn we are born again

Íruna’s lavender eyes lingered on Sólhárr as he spoke, her expression soft yet intent. His admission, so steady and unguarded, resonated deeply, and she found herself nodding faintly as he finished.

“I believe,” she began slowly, her voice thoughtful, “that the Gods’ will is not always clear to us. But perhaps it isn’t meant to be. Perhaps part of their purpose is trusting us to find meaning in the paths they set before us.”

She glanced down briefly as their walk ceased, letting her head drop to place the yarrow at her paws. “I did not expect to find myself here, in these woods, among your people,” she continued. “But the Gods have brought me here, and I cannot ignore the feeling that this is where I am meant to be.”

She smiled up at the large Sólhárr, letting her eyes prod across the etched visage he wore.

“You care for this place, for your people. It speaks to the Gods’ wisdom, placing you here as their Hárkonungr. You are chosen, Sólhárr. And I believe it is my duty and utmost honor to serve the chosen of the Gods'.”