Neverwinter Forest Gathering what's given

Y’var’la’s sharp gaze softened—just slightly—at Íruna’s words. The mention of the Vættir drew a faint hum of acknowledgment from her, a sound that could have been agreement or merely indulgence.

“The frost has spared you this time.” She watched Íruna work with quiet efficiency, noting the reverence in her movements. There was a grace in her method, a respect for the earth that Y’var’la found... respectable, if not entirely relatable.

When Íruna’s question came, Y’var’la raised a single brow, her lips curling into the faintest smirk. “You ask much,” she said, teasing, “I am not accustomed to being a beast of burden.”


Though Y'var'la rarely deigned to do favors, she was willing to make an exception for the woman. She crouched, reaching for the small bundle Íruna had set aside. “Very well,” she said as she straightened, voice muffled by the clutch of herbs. “But don’t let it become a habit.”

Her tail flicked lazily as she glanced toward Íruna, her gaze sharp yet strangely companionable. “Let’s hope the Vættir continue to favor you, or next time, you’ll be carrying it all yourself.”