Neverwinter Forest a device, a saviour

heavy breathing

she didn't know what she expected, but it certainly was not to see him like this—softened, calm, almost tender in his passion. it stirs something within her chest, something she will not speak of. the rosemary’s sharp scent mingles with the earthiness of the mint and the faint sweetness of chamomile, each one adding a new layer to the air around them. and she listens, almost eagerly, as rökkur explains the properties of each herb, the depth of his knowledge and the reverence in his tone grounding her in a way she didn’t expect. almost all of which he speaks, she already knows, and yet she is attentive like a woman made again; her breath coming in shallow strokes into her lungs that burned. she feels herself relax ever so slightly, the tension in her shoulders loosening as the herbs stain the water with their blessings. his words are powerful in their softness, thoughtful.

still, she can’t help but wonder at his intent. a day for them to be alone. it feels… significant, somehow, though she keeps those thoughts tucked away, hidden behind the steady calm of her features. she does not yet know if this moment is for her, or for him, or for something larger than them both. a thoughtful selection, she murmurs at last, approval upon her northern tongue. her gaze drifts briefly to the pool, watching the herbs swirl and settle, their scents mingling into something soothing, something she is eager to feel upon muscles and hide. you are thorough, sögumaðr. her eyes crease with bemusement.

she steps closer to the edge of the pool, her silver and blue coat catching the moonlight as it filters through the trees. the warmth of the steam brushes against her fur, and she lets herself breathe it in, her icy gaze flickering briefly to meet his scarlet eyes. perhaps i have been too tense, she admits after a moment, voice breathy and light, as if feeding into his words; offering him the flick of her tail, letting it slide upon muscle that coats his scarred pelt. now, she is tender. she is unafraid of the subtle intimacy that now lingers in the space between them. she would press herself up against him, if she could, driven by something within but she does not. she maintains a short, lingering space—just enough to leave one wanting.

without ceremony and without his bid, she steps forward, and lowers herself into the warm, herb-laden water. the scents wrap around her, soothing and invigorating all at once, and for the first time in what feels like ages, she allows herself to let go—if only slightly. though her thoughts still churn beneath the surface, she feels the beginnings of ease settle into her bones. she glances at rökkur, her icy eyes softened by the steam, waiting for him to join her. she moves naturally through the cool water, ignoring the frigid bite of winter; if anything, it makes her feel alive. and she knows, or hopes, he will soon join her and they will indulge in one another's warmth. over her shoulder, she looks at the man through lidded eyes. a lady should never be kept waiting, sögumaðr.