Neverwinter Forest Lost

the wind moved around him, pulling at the edges of his thick fur. snow clung to the ridges of his shoulders, unmelted by time or warmth. his breath billowed, quiet and steady, like smoke from a long-doused fire.

her words hung between them. the weavers. the silence. the loss. he understood all of it.

too well.

the north does not keep what it cannot harden, he said finally, voice low, carried like stone across the frostbitten air.

his eye—his only eye—watched her, slow and unblinking. not with suspicion. but with knowing. a kind of recognition.

you’re still standing.

he let the weight of that settle. not a compliment. a fact.

and then—he moved. not fast. not loud. but each step was sure, carved by years spent surviving what others could not. until he stood just beyond her reach, the full height and breadth of him framed by pine and sky.

this place has taken much, he said. but it will give, too. if you earn it.

a pause. his gaze lingered on her—drawn, not swayed.

there are still people like you. like us. old blood. stone-born.
his muzzle tipped toward the quarry behind him, faint trails marking where his wolves had gone before.

if you’ve the will to stand among them… come.

and with that, sólhárr turned—expecting her to follow. not because he demanded it.

but because she belonged.