Neverwinter Forest When I was a child, I heard voices

sólhárr moved through the forest with a reverence in his step, his weight almost silent on the thick blanket of pine needles and moss beneath him. here, beneath the thick arms of the evergreens, where only slivers of sun dared reach the ground, he felt the familiar pulse of home echoing in the shadows. the air was still, thick with the scent of earth and green life, yet alive with the softest whispers of the woods—the rustle of ferns, the soft clatter of a distant squirrel scurrying through branches.

he paused, breathing in the scent, letting it settle in his lungs as he observed the terrain with the watchful eyes of a guardian. somewhere nearby, he could hear the faint crackle of hooves over broken twigs. the deer herds thrived here, in this hidden world that cloaked and shielded them, just as his homeland had once been. here, with the sky barely visible through the needle-bound branches, he felt a rare peace, as if the forest itself was welcoming him back into its fold.

sólhárr moved on, weaving between trunks as thick as giants’ arms, his gaze falling upon the soft spots where young plants dared to reach for the scarce sun. a quiet nod of respect, a promise not to disturb them. this was their world, one that felt like it could have been his own; here he would walk softly and, perhaps, belong once again.

she kept coming back. she kept looking, she kept feeling the restless of the spirits. yet she had no want to truly return here for good. she walked through the overgrowth and mosses until it became too much to carry.

then she fled back home. she always did.

there was something here today. not the scent of panuk, not the crushing presence of a spirit. she wondered if rodyn had come back to see her or if another walked among what had once had a chance to be hers.

it couldn't be hers, not now.

warm hues dancing among tree trunks and new growth.

she did not know him. she only knew there was a distraction in this presence.

hello, her voice a wispy thing and she felt shivers of reluctance for allowing it to be heard.

the woman before him was a peculiar sight—creamy fur marked with ginger, a contrast to the shadows that enveloped them. her eyes, fiery and unyielding, reminded him of embers that refused to fade. he stood firm, furs bristling at her entrance. he was not one to take likeness to being surprised.

heill, he greeted, his voice a quiet rumble, the norse word rolling out with an old strength. his head inclined slightly, acknowledging her presence but keeping his form rooted, solid, a figure born from the earth and tradition.

he took his time, measuring her—lean and tall with oversized paws, a thick coat that seemed to swallow her frame. there was a contradiction in her, strength hidden beneath fragility, a spirit that seemed as fleeting as the light through the canopy above. he dared take a step closer to her, watching. he liked how she looked.

yet he remained silent beyond his greeting, observing, allowing her presence to speak as much as her words might.

heill.

had she seen him at the hunt? she thought she might have remembered him if she had. she might have asked him to hunt or to dance. this man very much had become a distraction for her now, it seemed.

she should have said something, asked something.

instead she wanted to close distance between them. she wished to see him up close. as if she meant to count each hair on him! her approach was imminent if he did not pull away from her.

she could imagine he was simply a spirit, a sign, hidden in these woods that haunted her.

there was an allure to her— no doubt registered in sólhárr's mind. nothing lingered despite the shape of her body, the cress of the moon that paled her features. but when he looked up, there had been no moon. it was just them, two, spiraling in a dance like motion as they observed one another.

he could dance for hours, if this was the sort of eyes he'd be able to glance into. into the soul. her soul. he'd never been caputred in this manner. dauntless in his steps, he sought to place his nose into the nape of her neck, taking an inhale of her scent.

others lingered against her skin. more of them. whilst she feigned as a pretty dove, he pulled back and huffed. she was a pack wolf. taken, he presumed, then why did the words leave his lips— fríð mey.

a vision unfolded before him— a life, with a dove-like effervescence that she carried. the gods were kind to him, freya loomed over his shoulder, whispered, kissed him to life.

she thought of the seal hunter. it melted away into sunshine.

she thought of the bear faced hunter. it melted away into this autumn mountain of a man.

suddenly there was nothing and no one. suddenly she was not plagued by the spirits and the world slipped into peaceful oblivion. yet they were alive. two heart beats brought close.

he was new and yet she thought she had seen him forever. something unspoken, maybe something largely imagined. she did not want him to leave her alone, to let the cold air brush between them. she sought to place herself into his hold without a second thought.

she wished to know him.

she wished to be known.

reckless, whispered her spirit. fire starter, whispered her heart.

he wouldn't leave her alone. ljósgleypir could feel her warmth trickling off her in warm radiance. it clung to him, sucking the boiling blood from his veins. he'd allow such an invasion, the cloud his mind, his judgement. a hot breath fanned from his lips to her cheek, nose brushing briefly against her lip.

do you like it here? came his words, rough and coiled from the back of his throat. his eyes dropped from her pupils to her lips in a brief once over. here he had meant her home. where they were now— he didn't care. they could make this their kingdom if she sought a higher reprieve. what he sought, was a wife.

is...your home forever? leave, the word was held back in his throat. with me, ljósgleypir's muscles twitched, muzzle lifting from her lips to her temple, awaiting an answer that could determine his fate— never see her again, or take her with him. ljósgleypir was not a man to linger where he was not wanted.

did she want him?

he spoke and while it did not make her like him less, it brought with it a quiver of warmth through her. she was reminded that he was real. so real. his flesh here within her reach, his scent now pressed firmly into her.

she blinked at his first question. she was not sure she had even registered what exactly was being said. here? in his arms? unexpectedly content and comforted by it so wholly?

very quickly things were fleeing from her control. not by any kind of force or lack of control — well, perhaps it was her own lack of control. his question was so much larger than anything anyone had ever asked of her. her home forever? moonglow had stood before her birth and it had stood in her absence until a return. she wondered if moon villages might outlive them all.

are you asking for me?

she needed to know and maybe the why did not matter as much as it should have.

it should have alarmed her, but she found some guilty pleasure in being unraveled.

it seemed ljósgleypir caught her in a daze, entranced by the looming shadow his ginger furs cast over her. a cast line, a hook, a throw. now, he'd want to reel her in— pull her close to his chest, breathe in the life that so effortlessly spilled from her.

asking for her was a kind way to put it. if he'd had his choice, it'd be a demand. but to scare such a fickle, fleeting songbird away would be a mistake, a loss on his part. he held his tongue momentarily, though it wished to fly free amongst her in the clouds.

yes, came his short reply. there was a jaded queendom held seldom beneath the coat of her ivory furs. he could see it— idunn vyed for her longiness, to transpire her from mere mortal to the beyond...godhood. that would only be if she'd let him.

he could do much more if she opened her heart, a feeble attempt to peel her away. a marked talisman of a new regime with a beautiful sylph at his side. tall and stalwart, they'd pillage the world.

why did she image the scent and taste of honey?

something sweet, but hard earned.

she realized now he carried marks of a hard life lived. they did not seem like the marks of a seal hunter, meant to leave a message of status or accomplishments. yet she imagined there might be stories buried underneath the scar tissue all the same.

she looked up without hesitation into the cold blue of his eyes.

she knew nothing other than what she saw.

they would ask a bride price for me, she whispered to him now. a smarter woman might have left his nearness. instead she sought to somehow press tighter to him now. any closer and —

unless you mean to steal.

her voice said nothing good or bad, it only simply was.

thought this song fit... https://open.spotify.com/track/75cMBXM2y...07962c46e2

and he noticed on his songbird that she bore no scars. she was a clean slate, a gift from odin. how spoiled has he been to experience such reverie. a lucky man he would be, if only there wasn't a caveat to her terms.

as icarus flies too close to the sun, ljósgleypir would seek to fly around it. his wings made of steel, unmatched in the blazing heat.

he let out a huff, tickling her furs against her cheek. price? came his breathless reply. a meek, futile attempt to rally his own strength. whilst he wasn't a desperate man, he was ambitious. songbird is priceless.

stealing her flickered a hasty thought in his head: it could be done. fast, with ease, they could slip away in the darkness, he'd pull her to the underworld. but he had no army backing him. a lone soldier in the field of a guerilla war.

what need?

stunning <3

priceless, he said.

the men around her new bride prices. they knew what might be asked of her. had any dared to say that it was impossible to ask for the price of a priceless thing? if it was wiles, she was oblivious to them. charmed so deeply that it set a forest fire ablaze within her.

seal hunter had not burned her so hot, bear hunter had not burned her so hot.

was it the newness of this man? was it something entirely else? some kind of presence he held, unmatched by any?

i do not set the price.

she sought to kiss his chin, his jaw. if he left and they never knew one another ever again, then let him remember her.

you must ask my mother, my father. they decided.

she did not want to think much on it. she did not want to waste the air between them with words. unless, did he truly mean to? maybe he meant only to woo her, to let her burn so brightly and leave her as embers in his absence.

it was a risk she found she might be willing to take.

mother. father. the words that any man dreaded to hear. his lips curled to a light grimace at the notion, not used to asking for permission. but it would be done, one way or another. freya demanded such pleasantries. it would set good faith for the future. pave the way for good deeds to be done.

other deeds, as it may be, would to know his songbird. to be the one at her side. to prove that he is worthy. it brought a wave of introspection to the man he knew not he was capable of— what if it had been his own daughter to confront him of a proposition? what had ljósgleypir have that her kingdom did not?

he had nothing. he had nothing except for the kiss he offered him, a silent promise that vowed her to him. he took it, stole it, and returned the gesture with a nip against her nape. a long swipe of his tongue.

he had nothing yet. she would be his, one way or another.

it boiled thoughts and dreams for a man to turn reality. he'd build a kingdom, proof that he was a worthy man. he needn't it, or so he thought, but this had been his sagnaheimr all along. a place for respite, a safehaven.

he'd build it. come. he wanted to lure her with him. i give you a kingdom. then, we speak to móðir, faðir.

can fade in your next if you'd like, and i can start us a new one;)

she knew this forest like her own blood and spirit.

she knew she might like to know him very much the same.

every warning ever given before, any promises made. all of it suddenly washed away when she was aglow in his warm embrace. her kingdom was his presence, was the new world he had brought along with him. a whole new reality.

yet all she knew was him.

eyes only for him, her scent being muddied by his prolonged presence and time spent, her ears only hearing his voice. she knew now that if she had seen him at the great hunt, she would have remembered him. she might have very well brought him before the camp moonglow then and there.

now she knew him here.

wayward and alone together.

how terrible a forest. for all it took, for all it gave back in return.