Neverwinter Forest May I stand unshaken

Without hesitation, Íruna gathered what few supplies she had with her, tucking them into the rabbit skin sack she carried. Her paws moved swiftly across the forest floor, the scent of blood growing stronger with every step she took.

By the time she reached the clearing where the Heimtré stood, she caught sight of Callyope arranging moss and a pelt.

“What’s happened?” Íruna asked as she approached. She glanced toward the source of the blood-scent—a pale, battered figure draped over the broad back of Sólhárr. Her stomach tightened at the sight of the injuries, but she kept her composure.

She met Sólhárr’s eyes briefly, her confidence clear. “You’ve done enough to bring him here,” she said firmly, her voice steady. “I can take him the rest of the way.” She positioned herself beside Sólhárr, her strength evident in the ease with which she adjusted her stance. “Shift him onto me,” she instructed carefully of her Leader, her tail flicking once as she prepared herself. Her muscles tensed beneath her thick coat, ready to take the weight.

When the injured man was carefully transferred to her, Íruna bore his weight without complaint. She felt the strain but didn’t let it show. She wouldn’t risk jostling the man more than necessary. Reaching the bed, she crouched slowly, lowering him with the utmost care until his battered form rested on the soft moss and pelts. She adjusted his position, ensuring his breathing wasn’t restricted and that the worst of his injuries were accessible for treatment.

“He’s ready,” she spoke as calmly and quietly as she could. While Callyope began to tend to the injured man, she returned to where she'd left Sólhárr to fetch her satchel of herbs.