Neverwinter Forest Bright as the morning, as soft as the rain

Y’var’la had been watching her, from a distance, as she often did. The woman's unspoken decline hadn’t escaped her sharp eyes. The others may have missed the subtle signs—the way her movements seemed slower now, more deliberate, careful—but Y’var’la had made a study of others. The limp the woman bore did not help.

Her gaze flicked over the woman as they neared a tree, eyes narrowed. Y'var'la didn't speak it aloud—not yet. Instead, she let the silence stretch between them, letting Seastorm feel her presence before she approached.

The air was quiet, save for the distant rustle of wind and the occasional snap of a twig beneath her feet. Y’var’la stepped closer, just enough to gauge Seastorm’s expression. When she spoke, it was soft.

"Chewing trees now?" She raised a brow, her tone teasing but carrying a sharp edge beneath it.