Ingun

Ingun lives in a small hytte at the edge of Østmarka, where the forest leans close, and the days begin quietly.

Each morning, she steps onto her porch with a broom in hand and listens before she moves. The forest speaks in small ways—the shift of leaves, the settling of light, the hush that follows birdsong—and Ingun hears it all. She sweeps not only what has fallen, but what has passed: the remnants of night, the echoes of unseen footsteps, the stories that linger just a moment longer than expected.

Though she walks among people, Ingun is not entirely of them. She knows the old ways—the rhythms that live beneath calendars, the patience carried in repetition, the wisdom held by those who wait. Her faded bunad is worn not for ceremony, but for living. To Ingun, tradition is not reserved for special days; every day deserves to be met with respect.

Those who come to her often find themselves slowing without meaning to. Ingun listens more than she speaks, and when she does speak, it is with care. She does not offer answers quickly. She trusts that understanding arrives when it is ready—and that no true lesson can be forced.

Ingun is one of the Story Tellers. Once a keeper of the Light in another form, she crossed the veil to carry its stories forward. The forest still knows her. Her heart still beats in time with the Ruby Light—the living heart of Østmarka—and through her, the Light continues to find those who need to learn how to listen, how to tend, and how to begin—again.