Neverwinter Forest there's no crowds in the street,

íruna hears the howl, and recognizes that it is a call for her. but why? she straightens from where she crouches, tending to the roots of a stubborn plant buried beneath the frost, and her icy eyes lift toward the direction of the sound.

rökkur, she murmurs under her breath, ears twitching to and fro to pinpoint from where he calls her from. when she moves, it is swift; muscles working to carry her forth upon a strong woman's legs. the gods guide her steps as surely as they guide his, and she answers his call without hesitation. soon, he is there and the newly promoted læknir regards him with warm eyes and warm hearth. a smile lilts upon her face, feminine eyes of blue draping delicately upon the man of faith.

yet, he is solemn. it does not take much to realize this, and she treads carefully towards the lumbering man. rökkur, his name is upon her tongue again as she comes to a slow halt, just a handful of paces away.

þú kallaðir á mig.