Neverwinter Forest hurting. longing. dancing to disco music.

A son.

Fjall, the son.

He did not know why it hurt to look at him. The longing the sight of the boy at Lótë's side brought within him. The crow's body may have been young still, fresh into manhood, but his heart had aged plenty these last few months.

This he knew as he looked from the boy to Lótë.

He smiled soft at her thanks. Then sought to recline fully, comfortable. Still careful of the babe.

Something had sat within him too long.

Need...talk, His words may have been...clustered into a serious way of wording, but his voice remained hushed. Hoping for only the softest way to speak to her.