Neverwinter Forest making the bed,

@Yvar'la , @Callyope to join?

sólhárr moved steadily along the borders of forneskja, his senses attuned to the forest's early morning quiet. the air was crisp, each breath sending a soft mist curling into the cool dawn as he marked the edges of their land. his gaze swept through the trees, catching on every faint movement, every whisper of the wind rustling through the branches. he took his time, a practiced ritual of reinforcing their claim with each step.

as he continued, a faint scent drifted toward him, barely discernible yet distinct. he paused, nostrils flaring as he picked up on the unfamiliar perfume. it was female, unfamiliar, and foreign to the land. his muscles tensed slightly, a spark of curiosity mingling with caution. whoever she was, she was not of forneskja—and she was certainly not his elska.

a thought of callyope crossed his mind, and he felt a faint tug of concern. where was she? he hoped she was somewhere safe, perhaps lost in her own morning rituals or exploring deeper into the heart of the forest. with a final glance toward the unknown scent, sólhárr resumed his path along the border, senses sharpened, ready to investigate further if the stranger dared to approach.

Y’var’la had seen the man much before he saw her, half-lidded eyes assessing the stranger as he made his way along the borders. Her presence was deliberately obscured, concealed among the thick foliage. She’d been careful not to trespass, yet close enough to observe and—if he noticed her—let him know she was there, unbothered by the consequence.

Her posture was relaxed, though her gaze tracked his every movement with meticulous precision. As he paused, nostrils flaring to catch the faintest thread of her scent. So, he’d noticed. Good.

“Lost something?” Her voice cut through the quiet, low and edged with dry amusement, though she made no attempt to step fully into view. Instead, she let her words linger, a subtle provocation wrapped in velvety nonchalance. Y’var’la took a slow, deliberate breath, eyes never leaving the male as she awaited his response, her posture poised yet thoroughly unimpressed.

His intentions would soon reveal themselves—whether he was here to guard his borders like a good soldier or if curiosity might drive him closer to the mystery she’d purposefully presented.

sólhárr’s head lifted, ears pricking at the voice that slipped through the trees, low and laced with a mocking edge. he couldn’t see her, but the air was thick with her presence, a tension that set his instincts on edge. she was close, deliberately hovering just beyond his reach, a challenge woven into every syllable.

depends who is asking. he replied, his tone gruff but edged with intrigue. he kept his stance steady, eyes scanning the thick foliage where he felt her gaze emanating, watching him like a predator assessing prey. he didn’t move closer; he knew her type, wolves who enjoyed toying with their targets, testing boundaries just to watch them bend.

i don’t take kindly to games, he continued, voice dropping, laced with quiet warning. if you’re here to talk, then talk. but if you’re looking for trouble, you will find it.

he let his words hang in the air, eyes fixed on the shadows, waiting to see if her curiosity would drive her to reveal herself or if she preferred to linger in the safety of her hidden vantage.

for reference— callyope can join whenever hehe

From her shrouded perch, she arched a slender brow. A soft scoff escaped Y'var'la, the sound faint but laced with just enough derision to carry to his ears. He was intriguing in his own way, all coiled muscle and caution, standing sentry as if his mere presence were a deterrent.

"How gallant," She mused, dark eyes gleaming as they traced the line of his stance. A step forward brought her closer to the dappled edge of shadow, enough for him to catch the gleam of her narrowed gaze. the woman tilted her head, appraising him openly, though she still held herself just beyond his reach.

"but, a breath, "you can rest assured, I have no ill intent." the woman tilted her head and settled her expression. "There is a pack here — I was curious."

sólhárr’s gaze narrowed, his tall, imposing frame stiffening as he held his ground, every muscle a silent warning. his chin lifted, a silent declaration of authority over these woods—a stance that left no room for doubt, for this was his domain, his charge.

curiosity has bounds, he rumbled, his tone low, barely more than a growl on the wind. his eyes lingered on hers, piercing green to shadowed green, studying the elusive figure with a quiet, potent intensity. the title of hárkonungr thrummed in his chest, unwavering, as he guarded the path between her and what lay deeper in the heart of his realm.

if there is a pack to find, he said, voice firm, they are mine to watch over. he thought of elska.

his message was clear: he would allow her presence, but only within the strict parameters he set.

So the man was gallant and noble, how quaint. She could feel the weight of his claim in the very earth beneath her paws, as though he were woven into the land itself, a sentinel forged from the soil and stone of these woods.

With slow, deliberate grace, she stepped forward, slipping into the light to let it wash over her back. “Then consider me within bounds,” she replied, her voice a smooth purr, equal parts respect and defiance. “I have no quarrel with you or whoever exists within your ranks.”

Despite her casual tone, she was keenly aware of the latent strength in him, the quiet warning in his stance that dared her to test the boundaries he’d laid. It sparked something within her—a thrill that prickled along her spine, a kind of challenge she rarely encountered, and relished when she did. She had come here expecting little more than a glimpse of foreign lands, but he offered a far more interesting distraction.

Her gaze flickered, drawn to the horizon. “I don’t seek trouble. Just a place to rest, hm?” She let her words linger, a rare sincerity lacing through her tone. For all her.. audacity, the woman was useful. She could hunt and heal as well as any wolf, if not a bit better. Sólhárr's caution didn't dissuade her; it intrigued her. If he was to set boundaries, then so be it—she would walk them with care. And if there was a place for her here, she would carve it out herself, in her own way.

hárkonungr.

sentinel, watcher, lover. hers in all ways. come to challenge the presence of a stranger who danced with a valiance.

akkunak. she dubbed the woman. for her slate colors and the way she had rolled in unexpected. she stood with watchful eyes, not hiding herself but not throwing herself haphazardly into the fray. it is the caution of her betrothed that forced her to speak with a firmness, even if she held herself only tall.

if you have come to disrupt the wilderness, then you will find you need to walk far for peace.

forneskja would not stand for it.

moonglow would not, by extension many moon villages would not.

this was the message she meant to send. let her bid the woman enough grace to be wise, or let the hárkonungr prove his hunting and might.

she did not speak of her heart's softness too. the want for women's company, the want for her own circles. she would wish to only collect the wise! only those who would grow what they built. or those who might be clay, to mold and fill with knowledge.

and then, shadow met light. though his elska's light shined brighter than them all. moongirl, his kona. with her snipe voice cutting through the air, he turned cloak over his shoulder and paid her a loving look, but quickly steeled by the carnal pressures that held upon the back of his neck.

the woman he faced had a crude sense to her. she was scheming. it didn't feel right to hárkonungr. he let himself raise a brow, a chuff of his own disapproval.

seiðkona speaks truth. he echoed, approving of his betrothed's firm comment. there is no rest upon forneskja. if you prove to work, you are welcome.

he took a step closer to her, letting his lip curl upward in a poising remark. this woman had grit, that much he knew, but could she be tamed? harnessed by the heart of eirunn, he could allow her in. lest, seiðkona thought otherwise.

Y’var’la’s gaze flicked to the new presence—a she-wolf as steady as the stone she guarded, her words edged with warning but tinged, more skittish than the auburn man at her side. Y’var’la met her firm gaze without wavering, taking the measure of her in one discerning sweep.

The man’s voice echoed his packmate’s resolve, his words clipped, edged with expectation—turn away, or leave. Y’var’la took his scrutinizing look with a steady pride, letting it wash over her without so much as a flinch.

Her words were calm, slow and steady. “Very well, then,” She met the Seiðkona’s watchful eyes with a subtle nod, acknowledging the guardianship she seemed shared with him. “If Forneskja can offer such ground, then consider me a willing hand.”

With a flick of her tail, Y’var’la straightened, gaze keenly shifting between the Hárkonungr and his betrothed. “I’ll prove my worth, as you ask.” A weight of purpose settling into her bones. “You may call me Y'var'la,” she said, the name curling from her tongue with a slow, deliberate grace, each syllable slipping like silk through the cool morning air.