Neverwinter Forest forwards beckon

@Pangur

the warmth of the hunt’s victory still lingered in sólhárr ’s veins as they crested the final rise. ahead, steam rose from the earth like a ghostly veil, curling into the chilled air and promising respite from the blood and toil that clung to them both. the natural baths, hidden within forneskja’s heart, glimmered with an inviting heat that defied the winter’s chill.

he glanced at pangur, a wry smirk tugging at his muzzle as they reached the edge of the springs. her fur was streaked with the remnants of their hunt, her triumph evident in the set of her shoulders despite the mess she carried.

the gods bless us with water to cleanse, he said, stepping forward and lowering his muzzle to the steam. his voice held a teasing note as he flicked his tail toward the nearest pool. and you look like you could use it, pangur.

his own coat bore the evidence of their victory, streaked with blood and dirt. with a huff, he stepped into the warm embrace of the water, the heat pulling a deep sigh from his chest. he turned his gaze back to her, amber eye gleaming.

come, before you scare the rest of the pack with that face of yours. his tone was light, but there was no mistaking the quiet camaraderie beneath his words. this was their reward, a moment of shared peace amidst the chaos of the hunt.

He did not need to say much before she was in, no argument from her! The water pooled at her elbows, but Pangur went far deeper; quite literally, she submerged herself, laying down and making sure not a single speck on her face would be missed. Her face! Which had to look sweet and inviting and pretty! Not blood-stained, like some crazed warrior, come to frighten forneskja's puppies. She lifted her head from the water after a brief moment, watching it drip from the ends of her fur before giving a brief shake.

It is so nice-uh... She groaned and leaned back. The red from the hunt faded in the pools, wide, river-like streaks that disappeared as soon as she let her paw swish the water around. Oh sweet cleanliness...

Well, the gods were kind to put this here... she commented with a grin, the sort of giddy lightness that followed when fatigue wore heavy. And to not have us be killed today, of course. Pangur shifted to lie on her side in the water. They have blessed us a thousand ways. I think they want to bless us still, but we should make an offering, soon, to keep their favour. She suggested, a casual flick of her ear.

The gods were resplendent and yet, they could fickle when they wanted to be.

her enthusiasm for the water was infectious, her words tumbling out with the giddy energy of someone who had just conquered the world—or an oxen, in this case.

you’re not wrong, he rumbled, dipping a paw into the water and swirling it idly. the crimson streaks of their hunt drifted away, disappearing like whispers into the warm depths. the gods favor those who prove themselves, and today... we proved a lot.

he leaned back slightly, the steam rising from the spring curling around his dark form. an offering is a good thought, he added, his tone thoughtful. something from the hunt. a token of gratitude for their guidance—and a promise we’ll keep hunting in their name.

Aaa.. they must reserve me a place in Valhalla. Pangur let herself drift back in the water, only her head peaking above while she maintained her overtired amuse. They had proved much in the eyes of the gods today; she hoped they were all watching.

She pulled herself from below the surface a little, sitting back on her haunches first, though when she noticed a strange lightness to a particular spot, she would rise and walk to the grass. From the unruly fur of her nape, her lucky rune came loose, the sap that kept it there washed away in the warm water of the springs. She let it fall gently to the dirt, careful not to lose it.

You sound like you've got an idea. She turned back, re-entering the water, not yet willing to give it up.

her words amused him, and he offered a faint, approving nod as she returned to the water.

there will be a place for you, he said, his voice low and certain, carrying the weight of his belief. but the gods do not need to wait to see our worth.

he dipped the crown of his head beneath the surface. then up, again, towards the sky. the horns of the oxen, he continued, his tone thoughtful now, we take them. i can teach you to carve runes into them, pangur. we will offer them to the gods—proof of what we have done today.

his gaze flicked briefly to the rune she had dropped, then back to her, his voice steady. the gods favor those who act. this will be our offering, our testament.

Carving, a craft well known to the Náttfari, there was an eager twinkle in her eyes. It is a good idea. She murmurs, a warm smile on her face while she let her paw drift through the water, the winter breeze seeking already to dry the parts of her that remained above the water.

They will read our stories and see our strength. From her heart, she spoke, and then allowed a short silence to fall between them, filled only by birdsong in the treetops.

I will make my own offering, too. She decides, turning back to the shore where she let her rune fall. A great importance hung on her voice, tender and yet, certain. I will put this rune to rest by the roots of Heimtre, where it can bless all of Forneskja, and not only myself.

Someday, it would be swallowed by the roots, taken into the land and buried. Pangur felt a strange lightness, even despite her attachment.

In a way, she would put her mother to rest here, too. She would've liked the moonflowers.

it pleased him deeply to see how she embraced the traditions of forneskja, weaving her own strength into their shared story.

you are doing good amongst us, pangur, he said, his voice low but warm, carrying the weight of genuine praise. your offering will bring blessings to the land, to heimtre, and to forneskja. it will be remembered.

the breeze brushing against his dark fur as he looked out over the stillness. the gods see your heart in this. your strength, your devotion. his gaze flicked back to her, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. it is these things that make forneskja strong.

he paused, allowing the moment to settle, before nodding toward her rune. put it to rest when you’re ready. its roots will hold your story, and carry it forward. there was a solemnity in his tone, but also a quiet pride, as though her offering reflected the strength of their pack as much as it did her own.