Neverwinter Forest manihost

for a moment, sólhárr said nothing, the soft hum of the moonflowers filling the silence between them. then, his voice broke through, low and deliberate.

how do you fare, rökkur? he asked, his gaze lingering thoughtfully on the moongrove guardian. he smells of íruna. good. this is good.

he let the words hang, his approval clear in the simple statement. the air around them felt heavy with meaning, the glow of tunglhjarta casting an almost otherworldly light over the scene. sólhárr’s posture remained strong, but there was a faint softness in his tone now, a hint of something more beneath his usual stoicism.

what do you think of the læknir?