Firestone Hot Springs 'cause i'm through, when the two

close-ish to neverwinter

sulfuric smell caught the shadow's attention. nose-wrinkling and throat-burning, but where there was sulfur there was warmth. his mountains had experienced such a thing. a crater that vaguely smelt of sulfur where a volcano had once been, then filled with water and perfect for bathing. rökkur wondered if this would be similar.

not a long way from the forest, either. he wondered if any other forneskja wolves had come here yet. scarlet eyes settled on pools of water, sporadic, though some large enough to hold a whole pack, maybe. jaw open as he breathed through his mouth, refusing the wretched scent, he padded closer. warmth radiated from the pools.

steam, too, rose from the pools. warming his face as he approached. he dipped his nose in the water for a moment, paws at the edge of the basin, before he would slowly, carefully, dip his body into the pool. heat flooded him immediately, and rökkur let out a contented sigh. an appreciated feeling. closed eyes, enjoying the moment.

a moment to relax. but he thought, then, with winter approaching, that this spot may be fought over. when all was cold, others would likely come to the springs to warm up. a peaceful zone, he hoped. all should be granted the opportunity of keeping warm.

he sounded out a howl, then. an invitation for forneskja wolves to join him. or for anyone else, really. a conversation could be nice, especially if he could bring someone back to the forest with him.

he wondered if sólhárr would be interested in more recruits.

Y’var’la caught the faint echo of a howl, its tone low and open, an invitation carried by the wind—a call to the followers of Sólhárr. Her ears pricked, curiosity flaring as she turned toward the sound. The sharp tang of sulfur tickled her senses as she followed the call, a bitter scent that promised warmth if one could endure it.

She arrived at the springs with a slow, measured pace, her fern green eyes sweeping the landscape with quiet intrigue. Steam curled lazily from the water, shrouding the pools in an ethereal veil. The figure of a wolf—dark against the shifting haze—rested within one of the larger basins, his scarlet eyes standing out like embers even from a distance.

Y’var’la tilted her head, a flicker of curiosity crossing her sharp features as she approached the edge of the pool. “Inviting strangers to your sanctuary?” she remarked, her tone smooth and light, though her words carried a hint of challenge.

She paused, letting the warmth of the steam tease at her fur, before adding, “I suppose I can’t fault your sense of generosity. Y’var’la,” she introduced herself with a soft, intentional cadence, the syllables falling from her tongue like a ripple across still water. “And who do I have the pleasure of meeting?”

dated forward slightly to when she's officially pledged <3

no problemo!

and his call was heard. a woman approached; her figure small on the horizon when rökkur's gaze settled upon her. slate and stormy, with a dark face and limbs. the black diamond upon her forehead framed olive eyes, of which he met with his own embers once she drew close enough. he moved towards the side of the basin, allowing her space, should she wish to enter the steaming waters.

her tone did not go unnoticed, but he regarded it simply: our sanctuary, he corrected, norse decorating his tongue. forneskja's. nonchalant, one could say. but in truth, the warmth almost seemed to mellow him. relaxed. cloudy tendrils flicked at her pelt, raising to the sky before they dissipated.

y'var'la, she said. he nodded his head, polite. her name spilled from her lips with grace, like a swan gliding across a lake. she asked for his own, then, and he would speak it without such cadence: rökkur, he said. the shadow flicked his tail beneath the pools surface, a movement that was slow; thick with water. the water is warm, if you wish to bathe. an open invitation. he would shift the conversation, then.

regarding their shared scent, he spoke: when were you recruited? he said this with a hum. past the sulfur, it was clear that she may not have the rest of the forneskja wolves. it was his honour to be one of her first, then. a shared loyalty to the hárkonungr

Y’var’la tilted her head at his correction, the faintest flicker of amusement playing at the corners of her mouth. Our sanctuary. The words were weighty, spoken with such ease, claiming the land with an understated conviction she could respect. Rökkur, he’d said—his name clipped and sure, carrying none of the gilded edge hers had. It suited him, she thought, simple but sturdy, like the stones that bordered the steaming pools.

The woman hummed to his offer, though the steam brushing her fur hinted that the warmth was tempting. She stepped closer, testing the space he had left her, one paw hovering at the water’s edge before pulling back. For now, she stayed on the basin’s rim, the sharp tang of sulfur mingling with the clean scent of steam in her lungs.

Her olive gaze lingered on him for a moment longer, her appraisal subtle but thorough. At his question, she raised a brow, the hum of curiosity behind his tone not lost on her. “Recruited?” she repeated, the word twisting in her mouth like something foreign. “I wouldn’t quite call it that.” She shifted her weight, the heat from the pools soaking into her paws even from the edge. “More in a 'trial phase', really. 'Till the seiðkona says otherwise.”

Her gaze flicked to his, unflinching as she added, “And you? How long have you served Forneskja? You seem… settled.” The faintest smirk tugged at her lips, her tone somewhere between probing and playful.

he watched as she lingered at the edge. she had yet to step in, though he did not mind. a flick of his tail beneath the water, then listening to her words. a disagreement with his wording. he nodded, then. a trial phase, she would call it, instead. I see.

and then she directed a question towards him. not long at all, he said. i was found by sólhárr almost immediately. i've been trying to familiarise myself with the lay of the land. which explained why he was within the pools, now. especially since they were so close to the forest that forneskja would come to call 'home'.

rökkur moved to interrogate her, then. how are you finding it so far? have you met any of the other forneskja wolves, asides from our leader? he wondered if he was her first acquaintance of the northern pack. he would soon come to find out.

Y’var’la’s eyes traced the subtle ripples his movements sent through the pool. At his reply, her attention shifted back to him, head tilting slightly. She considered his question, drawing in a slow breath. “It’s…different,” she admitted. Her gaze drifted to the rising tendrils of steam, thoughtful. “Less.. lofty than I’m used to, and the wolves… they have a certain edge to them, but it is pretty.” Her lip quirked at the corner, a glimmer of something unspoken. “Including you, it seems.”

The faint smirk didn’t last long before her expression sobered. “I haven’t crossed paths with many yet. You’re the first outside of the hárkonungr, if that flatters you.” Her voice was even, but her eyes danced with something playful, a fleeting challenge. “Do you live up to the reputation of the wolves here, Rökkur? Or am I to set my expectations lower?”

she was right: the area around them was beautiful, though not what either of them was accustomed to. he was unsure as to what y’var’la was raised upon, but he knew that the forest was not his mountain. the pines were not his rocks.

they never were, they never would be, but forneskja could still be his home.

and was that a compliment? the man had not been exposed to such a concept before, never courted, neither wooed, nor had he ever attempted charming a woman. the words went untouched by the shadow. only a half-smile and a vague shrug.

what an honour, he hummed, the slightest tease lacing his tone. eyes seemed to shimmer, then, curious: what is the reputation you believe we hold? the expectations you wish for me to meet? tell me, and i will tell you the trajectory of your hopes.

wisdom within his words; ancient like oaks.

Y’var’la met his words with a low hum, her gaze trailing briefly over the steaming pools before returning to his ember-like eyes. The half-smile he offered wasn’t lost on her, a subtle gesture that suggested more than it said. Intriguing, she thought, how he danced between a shadow’s quiet and the faint glimmers of something lighter.

“Ah,” she began, her voice smooth, poised, “Resilient, sharp. A pack born of endurance, not indulgence.” She paused, letting the steam wrap around her words.

Her tone shifted, lighter, though her olive gaze held its edge. “As for expectations, I suppose I’ll settle for seeing whether you are as steadfast as you appear. If not, well,” she let the sentence linger, her smirk deepening, “I’ll know where to set my sights.”