Neverwinter Forest sap

Luhtar lifted his head at the distant call, ears angling to catch each new note. He paused, nostrils flaring, sifting scents for clues to the newcomer’s intent. Unknown. Not Forneskja. But no scent of blood—only the rough tang of a warrior’s pride.

He shifted his weight, testing old aches and bandaged bruises. Still stiff, but better than before. Maybe it would be good, knock some rust from his limbs.

When he emerged near the stream, he set his stance, broad shoulders squared, tail held steady.

“You call warriors?” he asked, voice rough with his accent. “I here. Luhtar.” He let the name drop simply, shoulders rolling as though loosening unseen knots.

“You come friendly, yes?” A rumble in his chest, not threat but warning: he would answer challenge, but not tolerate treachery.