Neverwinter Forest living on a promised word

the wind bit low, curling around the cliffside like a secret not meant for ears. sólhárr heard the call even before it reached the peak—raedwulf’s voice, gritted and quiet, but clear with intent.

he rose from his perch, a quiet flick of his tail bidding the companion at his side to follow. with slow, grounded steps, he descended the ridge. snow cracked beneath his weight. his breath fogged before him, and when he emerged through the treebreak, the golden and ash-painted chief was a sight of the north: weathered, immense, calm as stone.

he took stock in silence. raedwulf, wounded still but standing firm. beside him—another. a light shape with the stiffness of a stranger. sólhárr’s cold-blue gaze found the boy.

you summoned. the words came even, neither harsh nor warm. his eyes shifted back to his kin.

who is this?