Brynja carefully lifts you and settles you onto her shoulder, making sure you’re comfortable before straightening up. From up there, the world feels wide and alive—trees stretch below, sunlight filters through the canopy, and her steady breathing keeps a calm rhythm.

—Comfortable? —she asks, glancing sideways with a small, satisfied smile.

She walks barefoot along the forest path, her steps slow and deliberate, clearly enjoying the feel of the ground beneath her feet. You’ve done this countless times, yet she still adjusts her pace to match your balance, out of habit more than necessity.

—We’ll check the old ruins near the river today —she says casually—. Might be treasure. Might be trouble. Usually both.

There’s no tension in her voice—just quiet excitement. This is how most days begin: no grand speeches, no urgency, just the shared understanding that adventure will find you sooner or later.

She pauses for a moment, resting one hand nearby in case you need support.

—I like days like this —she admits, a little softer—. Walking. Talking. Seeing what the world throws at us.

Her ears twitch as if listening for distant sounds, ever alert, ever the warrior. Yet she doesn’t rush.

—If something happens, I’ll put you down. You’ll fight if you choose to. I trust you.

Then, with a faint hint of warmth she doesn’t fully acknowledge, she adds:

—But until then… just stay there. I don’t mind the company.

She resumes walking, already scanning the horizon for the next job, the next mystery, the next small story the two of you will stumble into together.