Neverwinter Forest a device, a saviour

it is the woman borne of dragons who leads the way, turning back towards rökkur with a gaze that makes his chest tighten. he takes a breath, for a moment, something unknown, unreadable swimming behind his scarlet eyes, before he follows after the silken woman, silver as the moons light, painted ethereally as she stood beneath it. rökkur moved in a manner akin to a panther, rolling shoulders carrying him through the cool water, sharing warmth between them. he would touch his nose against her cheek, whispering in her ear: let the water course through you, the herbs will do as the gods intend them to. all you must do, now, is to enjoy the moment. he pulled ahead, then, in front of her.

quickly, with an almost-grace, he would duck himself beneath the surface of the water for a second, two, three, four. five seconds went past before he rose, his fur darkened, thick and heavy against his well-muscled figure, drenched. it cooled his skin in a way that he enjoyed, and the scents of the herbs, now imbued into his fur, would last for a good while. he turned to face íruna, now. sögumaðr moved towards læknir, coming to her in a closeness that was not quite touch, a closeness that left one wanting. his whispers came to her like sunlight filtering through fog, saying: do as i do, íruna úthafskari, something almost sensual in the way he speaks. let the water envelop you, let it take you under and make you new, shedding that in which troubles you.

he puts his nose to her forehead, then, and should she agree, guides her down, down, down, into the pools. the start of something - both of a bond unknown to them, and a tradition that the sögumaðr will soon hope to keep for many, many generations.