Chimera Fields rannsókn

sólhárr cast a steady glance over his shoulder, amber eyes sweeping over cicero with a mix of scrutiny and resolve. the smaller wolf was frail, limping, and ragged, but not broken. there was something in him—hidden beneath the layers of wear and weakness—that spoke of potential.

follow, he commanded simply, his voice a low rumble of authority. he turned, his powerful frame cutting through the snow as he led the way deeper into forneskja's domain. the air grew thicker with the scent of pine and earth, the towering trees enclosing them like the ribs of some ancient beast.

as they approached the heart of the pack’s territory, sólhárr slowed, his gaze flicking to cicero to ensure the man kept pace. the sound of the máni river grew louder, its steady rush a constant presence in the lands of forneskja. at last, they came upon the entrance of hometree. though he did not pass through it. this sacred place. only women.

sólhárr stopped. the golden light of the rising sun spilling through the branches above. he turned to cicero, his expression as unyielding as the stone that shaped the cliffs. seek the seiðkona, he said, his tone firm but not unkind. white sylph. she will treat you.

he paused, his gaze sharp as it bore into cicero’s. prove yourself here. you are given chance. do not waste it.

with that, sólhárr nodded toward the heart of the hometree, where his wife, callyope, often lingered. her presence would soothe and mend, but it was up to cicero to show he was worthy of forneskja's sanctuary. without another word, sólhárr turned, his massive frame moving away to leave the smaller wolf to his new path.