Honeyed Pasture She just sleeps through the night

As dusk fell, Eydis found herself straying from the territory laid out so carefully by Forneskja.

She felt that she had been pulled along by an unnatural, maybe even mythical force. It was the only explanation, for what reason would she have to wander so far?

Stood in a pasture, she found herself paused. The was nothing significant. No out of place scents, or mysterious objects. Only a pasture. Lifting her head she let out a long, nearly mournful howl.

Eydis shook her head, grunting at her own ridiculous behaviour. This was quite the pain, for now as she returned she would surely not be back in her den before nightfall.

is it okay if we future date this by like .. a day !! maybe 2 days !! just so the timeline makes sense (meeting solharr first & stuff) <33

dusk brought shadows. but once the moon rose, her light flooding the land, rökkur would know peace. the máni brought comfort, even though it had been the name of the mercenary that had spawned the warrior. other times, he preferred to call her by her other name: the tungl. such a word birthed the name of his natal pack.

but it had yet to rise, and rökkur prepared himself to bask in its' light, freshly bathed and pine-scented after rubbing against the neverwinter bark and the needles that had fallen. a sorrowful howl sounded out, then, and the shadow rose, ears perked as he searched for the source. so, trudging across the lands, he drank in the winds. scents rode towards him, that of a woman—a forneskja woman, no less—being the strongest.

eventually, he would come to approach her within the pasture, studying her. pretty and blonde. shaking her head as if she was disappointed with herself. he stood awkwardly a few ways behind her. a woof was what marked his presence only a few moments before he spoke: hello, he murmured. a rumble from deep within his chest. are you ... okay? spoken gently. with genuine curiosity; concern.

his tongue was careful around unfamiliar words. northern accent clear, spilling from his lips, tumbling with little grace. but his expression ... his eyes shone with weariness—for her. she reminded him of his mother, somewhat. scarlet hues would carefully meet those of mint, should she turn to him. and he would sit upon his rump.

a safe length away, for her sake.

No problem!

Someone approached, she could feel the eyes on her back in the way her fur raised. She turned as he called out to her, eyes dragging over the stranger. Forneskja. She stated. I need to go back.

Carefully, she took in his scent. There was familiar scents on him, though weak. A new recruit of Solharr's, she assumed. Who are you? An eyebrow was raised, brow furrowed.

he watched her, then, as she turned to face him. forneskja, he repeated. i can walk with you. his questions went unanswered, but that was alright with him.

she asked who he was, then, and he gave a polite dip of his head: i am rökkur, he said. no amount of dignity nor pride was held within his name. merely the title of a man. who are you? someone that sólhárr had taken interest in, it seemed.