Neverwinter Forest River, O River

Luhtar watched her go, that subtle smirk of hers lingering like a distant star. He snorted quietly at her barb, amusement tucked behind a low rumble in his throat.

“Both at once,” he murmured under his breath, “should be interesting.”

The grove loomed ahead, dark and tangled, its scents shifting with every soft gust of wind. He followed, placing each paw with caution and care. His hulking form didn’t lend itself to silence by nature, but he knew how to move—at least, when it mattered.

Slow, steady breathing. The scent of pine and old leaves filled his nose, and something else—wild fur and distant musk.

Prey was near.

His gaze flicked to Y’var’la’s lithe shape as she slipped through the foliage. He admired the woman's ease, the way she seemed to melt into the underbrush. For a moment, he almost forgot the hunt, caught by the subtle grace in her movements, the confident set of her shoulders.

Focus, idiot.