Shadewood the wood's labyrinth

The name hung in the air between them for a moment before he inclined his head slightly, a gesture of acknowledgment.

Qvasir, he offered in return, his voice steady, low, and roughened like the edges of a weathered stone. Not much of a name for anything poetic, I’m afraid. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, though it didn’t reach his amber eyes.

He shifted his weight subtly, his posture remaining composed but not rigid. And yet here we are. Two souls sharing harsh ground. Could say it suits us both.

Qvasir glanced briefly at the sky before returning his focus to Cormorant. So, Cormorant, he added, his tone carrying a hint of curiosity, is the wandering life your choice, or just the hand you’ve been dealt?

The question was deliberate, an open door for whatever the other man might choose to share—or keep close to his chest.