Neverwinter Forest Lidet er om den mans vrede, som ingen vurder

Wind and Sky were something her uncle had said many times held power over a wolf's paws. Raen had listened to his stories with eager eyes and bit breath as a child. In this moment, she believed that her breeze and the breeze of this wolf's was meant to cross, that she was meant for this. His breath felt like fire against the ice that had made itself home on her fur.

Forneskja. That was a mouthful, but she'd heard worse. Suppose she'd have to get used to speaking it.

I will.