Neverwinter Forest All that we are and all that we have ever been

okay finally made it @Solharr @Callyope

Limping. Drops of sanguinous fluid dotting the ground in the wake of this one, Pangur's lifeblood, slipping away....

Ah, not quite. But boy oh boy, it did hurt quite a bit! A relaxed smile did not fade from her face. All things would be fine in time, just patience now, that was all. She wandered past borders, so clearly marked, because it was proper for others to do the right thing, to help those in need. Pangur would pay in kind.

Cougar, cougar claws met with peachy limbs, made em not so peachy anymore... Pangur wanted a bath. At least her belly was full, having taken charge of the carcass she'd got a stray hit for. Lucky Pangur.

Beautiful forest, it almost distracted from the sting; birdsong in the autmn air, towering evergreens and the sweet scent of pine and sap. She carried on.

sólhárr’s nostrils flared, the coppery tang of blood weaving its way through the crisp scent of pine and moss. his ears twitched, his sharp gaze narrowing as he followed the trail of crimson droplets that marked the intruder's path. it wasn’t the first time a stranger had stumbled into forneskja wounded, but the audacity of it always set his teeth on edge.

the hárkonungr moved through the shadows like a wraith, his steps quiet yet deliberate. the soft hum of birdsong seemed almost inappropriate in the face of the crimson trail—mockingly serene. when he finally spotted the source of the disturbance, a woman, peach-pelted and limping, his eyes darkened with wary curiosity. she smelled of cougar. interesting.

her posture was odd—relaxed, almost nonchalant, despite the blood that smeared her limbs. his approach was measured, deliberate, a steady presence that emerged from the trees like the embodiment of the forest itself.

you bleed on my soil, wanderer, he rumbled, his voice low and steady, the tone carrying the weight of authority. his gaze flickered briefly to her wounds, sharp and assessing, before returning to her face. what business brings you into forneskja? cougar claws? or poor judgment?

there was no immediate hostility in his stance, but no warmth either. he was a mountain, unyielding and watchful, awaiting her answer before he decided if she was friend, foe, or simply foolish.

A figure in the distance, quite quick to close it, Pangur straightened up much she could, the injured limb still hiked up and dripping onto the grass below. Hallo! She'd greet him with a light expression, nice smile that masked the severity of the pain this messy thing was bringing her. She was rather undeterred by the authoritative swagger of the giant man that sauntered closer, and scolded her for bleeding on his soil. Yes, I bleed here. Soon you will have pretty flowers come to suck it all up. Say a thank you, Pangur makes all things pretty. She at least seemed amused with herself. Round ears swivel forward, full attention, just for you.

I bring whatever business you need, not wanderer. She'd echo with a lilt of her head, toothy grin unsheathed No bad kind. You call this place Forneskja? I come to seek aid, I think you see what for. I can provide whatever it is you need, Pangur is lucky, see? I bring luck here.

The red continued to drip, drip, drip.

sólhárr’s sharp gaze swept over the injured female, narrowing as he appraised her condition. despite the lightness in her tone, the sight of her bleeding limb was enough to spark a flicker of worry in his chest. he stepped closer, his broad frame casting a long shadow over her as he considered her words.

you’re bold, i’ll give you that, he rumbled, his voice low, edged with curiosity. but the faintest thread of concern tempered his tone, softening the rough edges. yes, forneskja. you’ll find no luck without effort here.

his eyes lingered on her injury, calculating, before flicking back to her face. can you hunt? fight? scout? i’ll not offer aid for nothing. the forest thrives because we work for it, and those who join us must do the same.

there was no malice in his words, only the weight of truth, though his gaze remained sharp, searching for any sign of deceit. if you can prove your worth, we’ll see about tending to that leg of yours.

Pangur was bold indeed! Because Pangur could not die. Everything always worked out for her, the gods willed it so, their faithful wanderer, voice of their voices, tethered and bathed in their love. Even here, where she felt far from it all. She kept them close, they were family, after all, and Pangur loved her family so dearly, even when all that was left of it was a talisman from  móður, tangled into the fur of a golden nape, stuck with sap; carved faithfully into it, a rune: wunjo. She remembered the scraping of nails through soft wood as it had been made for her.

Ah, she knew the way of the world, nothing was free and Pangur did not mind one bit! To trade, to connect and explore, this was the world she wanted, the world she loved. Pangur is no fighter, but I can sing! I have stories, I can hunt, yes.. I can also aid with childbirth, and weave pretty decor... 

She lists her skills with hum, pausing to lick at the maimed limb before returning her gaze back to his own, giving a smile and a nod of her head. For your aid, it is only fair, I will give many efforts. I can teach, and I can learn.

sólhárr's eyes narrowed as she spoke, but the hum that followed wasn’t unkind—it was thoughtful, a sound that rolled deep from his chest. stories and songs, he repeated, his gaze steady, weighing her words as if trying to measure their worth. a different kind of strength, then.

he took a step closer, circling her briefly, though his movements were neither predatory nor rushed. his gaze lingered on the maimed limb before flicking back to her face. this is good, pangur, he murmured, voice even. to teach and to learn—that is the way of forneskja. i am sólhárr, hárkonungr.

he paused, considering her for a moment longer. we’ll see if the gods have truly blessed your luck, he said, a note of challenge lacing his tone, though his words were not cruel. rest here for now. we’ll see where your efforts take you, singer.

Pangur's hazel gaze followed Solharr as he circled, undaunted as she always was. He was friendly, and so in her mind there wasn't much to be daunted by. Still, she knew strength and she could see it ripple through the hárkonungr, king that he was. See? So lucky she catches the king on his daily rounds. All was where it needed to be at this precise moment in time. 

The gods had willed it so. Pangur looked to the trees, perhaps to glimpse a raven, or an owl; even if she did not, she knew they watched.

Thank you for your hospitality, hárkonungr. I will try dearly not to disappoint. She grinned, mischief oh the tip of her tongue. For now, she followed, limping along.

sólhárr's golden eyes flickered back to her as she spoke, her words holding a lilt of mischief that didn't escape him. she limped along with her usual air of boldness, even while blood still marked her path.

he tilted his head slightly, studying her for a beat before turning to lead the way deeper into the trees. come, then. see that you don't, he rumbled, his tone carrying both a warning and a smirk.

the forest around them seemed to darken as they moved further in, the towering trees swallowing the light. sólhárr's stride was confident, purposeful, though he kept an ear turned back to ensure she followed. you'll earn your place here, pangur. there's work to be done for those who are willing. you say you can hunt— his gaze flicked over his shoulder, landing on her limping form, —but you'll need that leg healed first. my seiðkona will see to it.

his tail swayed briefly, the motion deliberate, before his gaze shifted forward again. you'll find this is no idle place. each wolf serves, and the forest takes notice.