Neverwinter Forest can't take my history

the news broken leaves the healer speechless. the white sylph, the very same woman that had tended to his leg way back when, the same woman with gentle words and wise knowledge—she is gone. their seiðkona is gone. 

her absence sits heavy in the heart of not just sólhárr. cicero has never been a man easily swayed by emotions and yet...it aches. he and white sylph had just began to form a kinship, one far from just a mentor and her devoted student. he'd respected her, and she him.

for a moment, he wonders if there was anything he could have done, or if this was cruel fate playing a terrible hand. 

the moods shifts. heavy, sullen. not a word is uttered; no one dare interrupt the mourning man as he speaks. not even when he announces that they will be leaving these grounds to make a new home elsewhere.

this ruffles the man—he'd only settled just recently. carved himself a home, built himself a blooming cache. the trouble of having to move everything...his disdain is written in his eyes, and the way his lips purse. 

but he does not refuse. it is not his place. even if he dislikes this plan, even he has to admit that staying here felt innately wrong. 

the forest was not the same without their sylph. he imagines it never will be.