Neverwinter Forest the void of a world

a quiet hum rumbled low in his throat, acknowledging the request without hesitation.

come, he said simply, his voice gruff but not unkind. with deliberate steps, sólhárr began to move, his paws pressing firm into the snow, leaving a clear path for stærk to follow. the journey was unhurried; the northerner understood the limits of a wounded wolf. his own scars ached with the memory of countless battles, a shared language written into their bodies.

the faint sound of trickling water reached his ears first, the distant melody of a thawed stream threading through the silence of the glade. sólhárr slowed his pace as they neared, casting a glance back to ensure stærk still followed.

reaching the edge of the stream, he stepped aside, his broad shoulders brushing against a low-hanging branch. he gestured with a nod of his head toward the clear water. drink. you’ll need your strength, stærk. his voice carried a weight of authority, though there was no cruelty in it—just the firm expectation of a leader.

he lingered nearby, his gaze sweeping the surroundings with vigilance. forneskja’s lands were his to protect, and though stærk carried the scent of gratitude, sólhárr’s instincts never fully rested.