Neverwinter Forest dunestag

the days had been kind to him. no longer was he skin and bones, thanks to the kindness of many within forneskja. so many offerings had been laid at his feet, all accepted. never had he felt so grateful, or so wanted. stark was his image now; his sides no longer sunken in, ribs no longer on display. 

his eyes seemed bright, keener. and his energy had greatly improved; his seiðkona mended his leg to the point where it wouldn't ache as much, wouldn't hinder him as much. 

and so, he hadn't been idle. out scouring the forest for herbs, to stash away in their collection. learning, listening, watching—as a man who hungered for knowledge, he'd been fed very well. 

cicero was happier. satisfied, fulfilled; he had promised to make the most of his second chance, and he was fulfilling said promise. 

there was a call for him. sólhárrs deep voice, summoning him. pulling him away from his walk, guiding him toward the man's location. and there he stood with a strength cicero could only hope to possess one day. 

he steps into the sunlight, his cloak of dusk stark against the white backdrop. with a respectful bow of his head, he spoke. "you called for me, hárkonungr?"