Neverwinter Forest störf

Pangur sat listening in silence, her heart thrumming with excitement, a wedding!—and they were tasked with beautifying things, making this place worthy of the presence of the gods for a night. Her tail could hardly fight the delight that shot through her and spurred it to sway behind her, she looked to Y'var'la out of the corner of her eye to gauge the other woman's feelings on the matter.

Already, Pangur was drawing plans for the glen, imagining how the colours would pair with the serene winter snow. She looked again to Harkonungr, dipping her head with utmost respect, and a cheery grin. It will be beautiful, Harkonungr. We will do the finest of jobs.

No mistakes could afford to be made, Pangur would have to scrounge up every bit of botanical knowledge from the corners of her brain. Or- perhaps Y'var'la would shine in that regard instead. She found herself eager to work with her in this task.

Wolves of honour. It was quite the prize; but Pangur felt compelled beyond her own rise for this. The gods would supp with them, bless their union and the sacred place that Forneskja had become. The motivation burned like fire in her soul.