Neverwinter Forest Weasel hunt

sólhárr’s ears flicked at the title, the attempt at his language bringing a glint of amusement to his eye. there was respect in it, and that much he could appreciate.

a slow smile unfurled across his scarred muzzle, followed by a deep, rumbling laugh. not so long ago, i was the one making such a request, he mused, voice thick with mirth. and now you stand where i stood. the cycle continues.

he studied arrluk for a moment, weighing the request. the young man was not unfamiliar to him—callyope’s blood. for that alone, he would be granted favor. but it was more than just that. he saw something in him, something that reminded him of his own younger self.

hunt as you will, sólhárr granted with a nod, his stance loose, welcoming. but let it be known—you take what you need, no more. the forest is generous, but she is not endless.

he shifted, gesturing lightly with his muzzle. tell me, arrluk, his eye glinted, lips twitching at the edge, who is the woman worthy of such a price?