Neverwinter Forest mod is þæt þonne mæg

raedwulf does not resist as his hands are pushed gently away—he could grip tighter, if he wanted, but does not. he simply lets go, as if the motion had only ever been meant for a moment. only ever a question asked without shame. with a huff of his own, he watches the healer's face shift. no anger. no pride. only... something else. the leg is tucked back like a wound, but the eyes do not burn with fury—only weariness. raedwulf hums in thought and then shrugs, as if to push it away himself.
he won't ask again. he lets his head fall back with a soft grunt, not frustration, but acceptance. the conversation ends, and the work continues. still, when the command comes—eat—he glances down at the roots and herbs laid out for him. his nose wrinkles faintly, remembering the bitter taste from days past. he mutters under his breath, mostly for himself. ic et wyrtan swā swīn. nose then flaring.
begrudgingly, he obeys. in time, he leans back, shoulders slackening. the ache still simmers deep, but dulled now by the work of clever hands. he then lets eyes roll back to the man, gesturing with unwounded arm for him to take a seat. to rest a while, if he wanted. it was the least raedwulf could do. þū hǣlst, lǣċe wer. ic þancie þē. a weak smile offered, dulled by the ache in his broken tooth.
moving his head to gaze down the rock path that descends from his cave, down the length of the tunglhjarta. it is a long way back to the heart of the forest, and a long walk for a man in such a condition as cicero. these words are not voiced, even if they wouldn't be understood, and raedwulf instead shifts. limping up to his full weight, then stepping out from the shade of his home. looking to the stars as they begin to dapple the fading night sky. head bows, then, before the expanse. raedwulf fully ignoring the presence of the lingering cicero.
wæcendran heofones hean,
beorhte ēagan goda,
iċ ġesēo ēow þær lyft tobirst,
lēoht myne weg þonne middangeard is dim.
berað naman forslagenra on ēowrum fȳre,
lǣtaþ nǣnne lyge under ēowres ēagan,
nē nānne yrmþling unġesewen.
iċ slǣpe under ēowrum spereum,
healdað mīne cyn þā hwīle iċ swefe,
and wisiað mīnne hand þonne iċ āwace.
words spoken in a hushed uttering.