Neverwinter Forest uxar

Luhtar followed in Sólhárr’s wake, each one carrying the dull ache of his healing wounds. The wind stung at his flank, biting against the tender puncture there. Pain was secondary to duty, and duty demanded he keep pace.

When Sólhárr glanced back, Luhtar met his gaze briefly, nodding his understanding. He didn’t need words to know what the Hárkonungr expected of him. They’d done this before—the ram, and other countless hunts of ungulate.

Luhtar’s ears flicked forward. He closed the gap between them, his breath steady despite the weight of exhaustion pressing against his frame. "I follow," he grunted.

When the ridge fell away beneath them and the oxen came into view, Luhtar’s gaze sharpened. The beasts were massive, their hulking forms dark against the endless white. He inhaled deeply, the musky scent of their quarry filling his nose. His muscles coiled beneath his thick pelt as he assessed the terrain—a wide expanse of snow, a scattering of rocky outcroppings, and the low groan of wind curling through it all.

As Sólhárr began to move again, Luhtar followed without hesitation.