Stone Circle Heartland

Skáld on eager paws and with giddy stead gallops through the upland, the tips of his bounding curls kissed by sunlight. She romps after him, the beat of their paws tolling the fields in tandem.

Soon the open stretch of highlands secede to a lucent forest of bluegreen leaves and milky birch. Her pace behind Skáld falls gently. She raises her head to listen to the wavering trees, the trickle of brook, a pair of robins calling to each other high over the wolves who have parted through their sacred grove. Steps taken here are quiet and careful, and even so the moss and fern keeps the earth soft.

It’s through the tunnel of birch to a little clearing framed in shifting light that Skáld leads her, and a modest cavern dug out from the roots of an ancient tree. She pads into the space, nose investigating, whiskers pursing, turning in tight circles. There’s a soft bedding of grass and it’s here she places her gifted stone. It catches a little ray of diffused warmth that’s streaking into the den mouth. Her brow folds and her chest tightens with wonder.

Could this be home, this peaceful grove? It seemed a little too hallowed, a little too bonny for the likes of Tauris. Was she deserving of this?

She reemerges to pad towards Skáld, noting the brimming fervor in his limbs as he shifts.

“Skáld,” she whispers, “There’s just one problem. You know what this den is missing? A name. Every good den has a name. Seeing as how you’re the one who found it, you’re an equal partner in this. What do you think we should name it?”