Neverwinter Forest The wolf and the yew

The forest carried the crisp bite of early evening, the fading light filtering through the thick canopy in fractured, golden beams. Luhtar moved with his usual slow stride, broad frame pushing through out the underbrush with a lack of ease. Tonight, his purpose was specific, his direction clear—Melisande.

He had yet to speak with her since Forneskja's forming. She evaded him, somehow... or he evaded her. As he went, he gnawed unconsciously at his bottom lip, teeth dragging along the rubbery flesh there.

Tonight, he intended to speak with her.

He found her near the clearing where the moonlight began to soften the edges of the forest, her pale fur glowing beneath the fiery sunset. For a moment, he paused, watching as she moved—deliberate, poised, flowery, and entirely different from her brother.

“Melisande,” his voice was softer than usual as he called out. When her head turned, his dull eyes caught upon hers and he forcefully tore his own away with mild bashfulness.

“Have you got a moment?”

for @Melisande