Neverwinter Forest when the curtains call the time

she doesn’t hesitate, lowering herself smoothly to examine the injured limb, her touch light but deliberate as she begins her work. “perhaps. it depends on how well we’ve managed the healing so far. but scars, they are not marks of weakness.” she pauses, pressing lightly along the edge of the wound, gauging pangur’s reaction as she works. “they are reminders—of what we’ve endured, what we’ve overcome.”

she reaches into her satchel, pulling out a small bundle of dried herbs. her movements are practiced, careful, as she begins preparing a fresh poultice. “it feels better, you say? that’s a good sign. the swelling has gone down, and the edges of the wound are clean. it’s healing well.” írúna’s voice is factual, but there’s a note of satisfaction that softens her tone.

as she applies the poultice, wrapping it neatly with fresh bandages, she glances up again, her expression thoughtful. “and perhaps,” she adds, a small smile forming, “jörðnýr has already blessed you. a scar or no scar, your leg grows stronger, and that is its own kind of renewal.”