Neverwinter Forest Alone—but not adrift

all welcome

Íruna stood alone.

Neverwinter stretched endlessly, its limbs tangled, air carrying the frigid chill of winter. She exhaled slowly, her breath clouding in the coolness as her lavender eyes traced the horizon, lingering on nothing and everything all at once.

The stillness was not unfamiliar—it was a companion she had come to know well. Beneath the canopy of the trees, she felt the presence of something greater: the faint hum of the Vættir, the pulse of the land, the quiet that came from simply existing here.

It was enough. It had to be.

She lowered herself to her haunches, the thick fur of her coat ruffling as she sat, ears twitching at the smallest sounds—the creak of a distant bough, the rustle of something unseen in the underbrush. Her gaze fell to the earth at her paws, where frost clung to the edges of fallen leaves, a fleeting thing, beautiful even as it withered.

Alone—but not adrift.