Neverwinter Forest atoningwishes

Y’var’la’s figure appeared as little more than a wisp in the falling snow, a sharp silhouette against the stark white canvas of the wilderness. She moved with a precision that bordered on obsession, her focus so total it was as though the world itself had fallen away, leaving only the task at hand.

Her breath came in steady plumes, betraying no sign of the cold or fatigue that might have burdened others. The snow underfoot held no secrets from her; she could read the landscape as easily as an open scroll.

She didn’t hear him approach at first, the world muffled in the soft fall of snow, but when she finally sensed the shift in the air, the familiarity of his scent—she straightened. Olive eyes gleamed faintly in the dark, narrowing as she turned her head toward him.

"Solharr," she greeted. There was no trace of surprise in her tone, only the same steady confidence that seemed to hum beneath her skin. She gave him a moment to close the distance.