Neverwinter Forest no lamb was lost

Y’var’la’s steps slowed as she followed Callyope, her gaze drifting over the landscape before them—an ever-expanding vista of forest and sky, as if the world were stretching out in silent promise. She inhaled deeply, drawing the cold air into her lungs. Growth from within. There was a power in Callyope's words, a certainty that resonated through her bones and danced on the breeze. Y’var’la, too, could sense it, feel it vibrating along her spine.

The vision of a future forged from within, built on the strength of those who were to come—women like her, who carried the weight of the world on their shoulders yet still sought to shape it, to steer it toward something greater. She could understand that drive—she had lived it, once. She could see the appeal of a circle, bound not by blood, but by shared ideals.

"Forneskja has the right to demand such things," Y’var’la mused softly, her words threading the spaces between them like the fine mist that curled around the trees. "To have those who carry knowledge and stories, who bring more than just the weight of their feet. A valuable thing, to be sure."

Y’var’la’s tone softened, a rare thread of respect woven into it. "And what would they bring you, these women? Besides their words and their ways of the world. What would you offer them in return for their loyalty?" She asked it simply, as if the answer were not only practical but necessary to complete the picture Callyope painted. Nothing could be done with nothing to gain.