Neverwinter Forest there's no crowds in the street,

he is called honourable, justified in her tellings. the man gives a small breath, unaware that he had been holding any at all. her cold, black nose meets his brown cheek, then navigating his furs to meet his ear, murmuring that he is right to follow her guidance, even when she shies away from the mortals in which she lights. he does not shy away from the touch, though is careful to meet it, wishing not to over-step ; to push away the kindness that she now bestows upon him with great mercy. he murmured a small thanks.

and he is warmed. comforted, by her touch. something that he had not quite expected from the læknir, though he supposed there was no reason to think otherwise. though her words to not come as one speaks to a crying whelp, no. her words come to a man who must be resilient, who faces his trials and is not alone in his standing, though he can not expect others to do what he must. do not let the winter hold you down for long, those are the words that meet him, that speak to him, gifted to the guardian of the moongrove by írúna úthafskari, daughter of the dragons bay. he smiles, then, and nods.

eigi vil eg gera það, því að sameiningu hárkonungr okkar og seiðkona má ekki dempast af grófum sögumaðr, words came humorous, testing her, watching her expression to see if they may get along. he has yet to know of their arrangement, and so he watches her with a glint in his eye that hopes for friendship. for times of laughter spent together, with little else in mind. a change in tone, then, adopting a more serious nature: mér hefur verið falin sú ábyrgð að binda samband þeirra með bæn í nafni máni, he takes a quick breath. ég get aðeins vonað að bænin heyrist, því þau vilja eignast börn - vissir þú? perhaps he was too much of a gossip.

he wondered, then, if he, too, would have any children this coming year.