Neverwinter Forest Moss

sólhárr had already been moving the forest’s edge when pangur’s steps joined the song of the morning. the rhythm of her gait, light and purposeful, wove into the birdsong with a familiarity that made him turn his head.

he watched her from where he stood between the birches, the gold of sun wrapping her like some chosen thing. she carried the sun with her, too—he’d always thought that. now, with the wound beneath her eye healed and marked in a thin line of memory, she looked no less fierce. no less worthy.

you’re early, he rumbled as he stepped into her path, a quiet thunder to his voice—worn, warm. his gaze dipped to the healed scar and lingered there for a breath. he didn’t ask about it, didn’t need to. she wore it like she did everything else—with pride.

he looked past her to the trees, scenting faint traces of elk, hare, pine. but it was her presence that pulled his attention back.

forest’s quiet, he added, tone low. too quiet.