Neverwinter Forest a device, a saviour

the sögumaðr beckons.

she finds his scent easily enough, fresh against the backdrop of the forest’s crisp stillness, and it leads her to the edge of the baths, where the air is warm and tinged with the faint sweetness of herbs and flowers. he stands there, a strong man against the steam that rises from the pools, his scarlet eyes holding her frozen. it stirs something within her—apprehension and girlish excitement which she scorns—as her icy blue gaze sweeps over the scattered offerings at his paws. herbs for healing, flowers for fragrance… a thoughtful gesture. unexpected. she wanders, with a tilt of his head, what exactly makes up this man.

still, she forces herself to approach. paws picking their way over snowmelt. when she reaches him, a playful smile warms her beautiful face, eyes pitching amusement up to him. and what is this, rökkur mánison?