Neverwinter Forest warden

trikova. ingram rasps her name at the clip of her teeth against his ear as she circles him. despite that he keeps to a slow, leisurely pace as he methodically walks the nature made borders of neverwinter, his attention is zeroed in to her and the words she whispers to him. her tone causes a soft shiver to slither down his spine; at the soft and divine commands.

it did not sound like a question; but even if it was surely trikova already knew his answer even before he rumbles it —

always — ingram slides his tongue across his jowls. i am yours, trikova. he affirms and thus accepts the title of 'keeper', glimpsing at her over his shoulder.