Chimera Fields rannsókn

sólhárr stood silent for a moment, his golden eyes narrowing as he considered cicero’s words. the man’s submission was clear, though it came laced with a sharpness sólhárr neither missed nor cared to address. what mattered was his willingness to follow, and the claim of a healer’s skill was enough to tip the scale. norse.

his deep voice rumbled as he finally spoke, the broken common tongue wrapped in the harsher cadence of his native norse. you come. forneskja. he gestured with a tilt of his head, indicating the path he would lead cicero on. you heal. in... heimtré. the word, heavy with meaning in his language, carried the weight of shelter, safety, and the sacredness of the pack’s hearth.

sólhárr’s gaze remained steady, piercing through cicero as if weighing the truth of his claim. you stay, he added simply, his tone leaving no room for argument. earn place. show... healer.

he wondered if cicero wanted him to carry him.