Haunted Wood there is a light

edit: for solharr when he's accepted!

 
Ashy trees blotched with colours of coal surrounded the woman as she went. The trickling of a river made the peach's ears stand on end, and her paws worked to find it, pushing through plant life, weaving within the trees towards the source. Running water sounded mighty good right now, with how parched the little lady was.

She continued in a set direction as the sound got louder. Eventually, the plants seemed to lead the way for her, growing more sporadic—yet greener—the closer she got to the water. And then, in a parting on the horizon, she saw the riverbed. Georgia approached, tail waving. She stood with her paws firmly upon the bed as she craned her neck downwards, savouring the water.

When the silken woman looked up, she scanned her environment, only to find a deer looking back at her, it's eyes beady, alert. She watched it for a moment. Curious. It dipped its small head down for a drink, long, dappled neck supporting it. Hooves plastered into the side of the river.

Georgia wondered, then, how the need for survival could tempt you to share resources with a predator. She could track, chase, kill this creature. It would provide her sustenance, something that was worth, in her opinion, far more than the deer's life.

But, no. She sat still, yellow eyes surveying the ungulate. Pondering.

sólhárr lingered in the shadows of coal-streaked trees, watching her—a creature of warm hues and soft waves, gleaming like desert fruit against the ash and stone. his breath stilled, and a faint glint entered his eyes. not often he’d seen one painted in sunlight shades, nor one so still beside prey. the deer sipped water, oblivious, as she did the same, a curious balance between hunter and hunted.

with heavy, deliberate steps, he emerged from his cover, coming closer until the river lapped gently between them. a single, brazen word slipped from him, low and rough.

thirsty?

he dipped his head, not taking his eyes off her, barely sparing the deer a glance. eyes like morning’s first light, though he noted a fierceness there, and he found his own blood stirring. sólhárr kept his posture tall, not challenging but solid, firm like the earth itself, steady like he’d always been. she reminded him of faraway tales—lands of heat, fierce light, and survival.

desert fruit, he muttered, voice soft, as he'd dub her by appearance. he nodded to the deer, a touch of admiration for her restraint, for her strange choice to let it drink, let it be.

strong one, hm? his words were simple, yet his gaze spoke more: curiosity, challenge, perhaps even a touch of respect for her silent strength.

A man approached, and the peach immediately grew alert, posture tall, ears swivelling forwards. Her eyes moved from the ungulate to the area in front of her, settling on a ginger pelt. He was bigger than her, well-muscled, but she remained where she sat, almost subconsciously trying to make herself appear larger.

The riverbed was the only thing that occupied the ground beneath him. Eyes like raging oceans glittered back at her. A testament of hardship, resilience, she thought. And for a moment, the peach wondered if he was a kindred spirit.

He'd asked if she was thirsty with a slight nod, and Georgia shook her head. I just drank, the usual brashness that accompanied her voice had been quieted, her tone a murmur as to not scare the doe that occupied the river only a few ways away from them. Have some. Mighty satisfyin' to a parched throat. But still, no matter how quiet she was, the southern accent still spilled from her lips.

His eyes stilled on her own. Watching with an intent. But what? She, too, held the contact. Strong. Unapologetic. But he did not seem aggressive. Something about him reminded him of the trees: still, unmoving, weathered. With roots spreading out for miles. With a humorous breath out of her nose, she wondered if that was why he was so still. Roots coming out of his paws, into the ground, or something.

Peach, actually, she hummed, a smile upon her face as she nodded. The stranger looked from her to the deer. Simple words, but eyes that blazed like the hottest of fires: blue in all of its intensity. Just lettin' it get a drink in. No point in huntin' if I'm not hungry. Hunting for fun wasn't her style.

Her eyes squinted for a moment. Perceiving, maybe. Surveying him as she looked up and down his figure. Are you hungry, mister? A hungry man was not always a dangerous man, but he was not always gentle, either.

sólhárr’s ears flicked forward, catching peach’s words, though the meaning took a moment to settle. her voice had a soft, strange rhythm to it, her accent curling around the words in a way he wasn’t used to. he watched her, studying the stillness in her gaze, the calm confidence that kept her rooted by the river.

he glanced toward the deer, lingering for a beat as if to consider her question, then shook his head slowly, deliberate.

not… hungry, he rumbled, his voice low and deep, as if unused to shaping these softer words.

his gaze returned to her, feeling the weight of her intent stare, her name still echoing in his mind. sol-hárr, he said, his name emerging slowly, each syllable measured, the rough edge of his accent shaping it.

this peach—he found himself strangely intrigued by her manner, by the careful way she held her ground, choosing her moments as if each one mattered.

His words came with an effort, the peach noticed. A rumbling voice that sounded in his chest, almost akin to the rumbling of an earthquake. He certainly looked like a man that could move mountains. She shuffled for a moment, making an uncertain facial expression as she peered at the man through thick lashes.

Alright, then. She nodded gently.

The deer would give the two one last look with those beady, tentative eyes, before it trotted off, leaving its scent to remind the woman of the meal she could've taken. But she wasn't hungry, yet, and so the creature would live to see another day. Another word spilt from his lips. It seemed to be prompted by her correcting him: she was no desert fruit, she was a peach. Sweet like one. Pink like one.

Sol-hàrr, she said, the foreign name strange on a southern tongue. It seemed that the name was carved by an accent of his own. One she hadn't heard before, not heard even once during travel—and she was one to get around. Name's Georgia, her tongue enunciating the 'or' sound. It's a pleasure ta meet ya.

She'd adopt a somewhat 'cheeky' grin, then, raising her browbone for a moment when she spoke: What'ya doin' 'round here with a voice like that? Her tone was teasing, and her head tilted in a manner of curiosity. Neva heard a tongue like that before.

sólhárr inclined his head in acknowledgment, his eyes gleaming with a touch of curiosity as he took in her words. her accent wrapped around his name like vines on stone—foreign, yet pleasing. he let her voice settle between them before he replied, piecing together his response with care, his deep voice rumbling through each syllable.

travel… far, he said, gesturing slightly to the horizon, as though the breadth of his journey could be held in a single motion. north. vetrfjörðr. long way.

he paused, catching her cheeky grin, a flicker of amusement sparking in his gaze. he let a rare smile tug at the corner of his mouth, brief but warm. georgia… pretty name. like fruit. his voice softened as he tried the name, as though testing its weight in his own mouth.

sólhárr tilted his head, studying her with interest. why here? he asked simply, his words blunt but curious, a gentle probing to learn more of this southern woman with the name sweet like fruit.

The caution she had held towards the man—now know as Sol-hàrr— slowly began to fade. Her shoulders loosened, her tongue flicked out against her lips as to provide them with some moisture. Georgia's posture wouldn't drop, and that was not the fault of the northern man, but the product of her own will.

A word emerged from his throat. One that she couldn't discern. Clearly not common-tongue. Which would make sense, considering the way he spoke, the way he crafted his words with such peculiarity. Vet-rf-something. She wouldn't even attempt it, but she'd not, confirmation that she was listening. That she was interested.

His own humour seemed to shine behind an otherwise stoic complexion. The side of his maw twitched in what she thought to be a smile. The way he constructed her name caused her to suck in a quick breath. Well, thank ya, kind stranger. Her voice was laced with a light chuckle. A particular sparkle within citrusy eyes.

Sol-hàrr's head tilted in a similar manner of curiosity, and she corrected her own, sitting up straight. He asked why she was here, and she had to quickly flick through her thoughts as to keep herself appropriately filtered. She would not reveal she was here on the run, escaping her past and those who wished to hurt her.

Georgia hummed. Just travellin', she said, sculpted smile lending her a confidence buff. It wasn't a lie, but it certainly wasn't the full truth, either. Lookin' for new sights. How bout you, Sol-hàrr? What-a-ya here for?

sólhárr hummed softly, a low, approving sound in response to her words. he noted the confidence in her gaze, the careful way she held herself, and it stirred a faint flicker of admiration.

purpose, he answered simply, his voice rough around the word, as though unfamiliar with shaping it in the common tongue. his shoulders lifted in a slight shrug, as if to say it was reason enough. the concept was simple, even if the journey was not.

he tilted his head, studying her with a quiet curiosity. many sights… in north, he added, his words slow, deliberate. home.. his eyes held hers for a moment, a silent strength in their gaze, as if the mountains and rivers he spoke of were carved into his bones.

Georgia listened as he spoke, shaping the words before delivering them with a tone that made each one feel final, undebatable. Confident, though not in a flashy way. Like pride ran through his veins, built into his bones, strewn within his pelt. A man born to lead, the peach had realised. And the power he so clearly held almost made her salivate.

Purpose, she echoed. How noble of ya. Her face took a pleasant expression, continuing to hold on to the smile that was continuously plastered upon her maw. Practiced. Shining. But that seemed to be where his explanation ended. A feeling of similarity once more. Curtness when it came to their arrival. A shared expression.

He spoke of his home, and for a brief second she felt as if she could feel the mountains' chill. Georgia had moved around a lot, but she'd always remembered the first. The warm summers had been her favourite. Her eyes met his own, something longing within her set of yellow hues. But then she blinked, and it was gone. Tell me 'bout your home, Sol-hàrr, she smiled.

Or don't, I don't mind—not tryna pry, o'course. Can I call ya Sol?

sólhárr considered her question, a distant look crossing his eyes as he searched for the right words. his jaw tightened slightly, as though the weight of his homeland was a presence he could feel even now, leagues away.

home… he began, voice low, careful. is mountain. tall—sky high. he lifted his head, as if to show her the height he spoke of. wind… cold, sharp. cuts, like blade. but… he paused, his gaze softening, a hint of warmth in his expression. in spring… warm. flowers come. snow melts. good place… strong.

he tilted his head, catching her gaze again. her smile—a practiced, pleasant thing—almost amused him, but he felt something deeper there. sol… he echoed, testing the name on her tongue. he gave a small nod, a hint of approval. sol… is fine, he said, the words simple but final.

with a brief, approving hum, he looked at her, eyes glinting with the pride and power of his homeland, as though carrying it with him even here.

The explanation of his home genuinely drew in the peachy lass. Her ears tilting to be closer towards him, face falling, attentive rather than performative.

She had moved around so often after she'd left her birth home. A hint of envy stung her chest. To stay in one place—beautiful and protective and something, somewhere to belong to—was nothing more than a dream for her. But it was Sol's reality, and that was something she could long for, but never understand.

It sounds very beautiful, she hummed, nodding. Yer a lucky man, ya know. The warmth, the pride in his expression was enough to see that it really was quite the place. She searched those ocean eyes carefully, looking from one to the other. Then, she'd sigh with a somewhat self-deprecating smile.

He was happy with her nickname for him, and she'd nod. Sol, then, internally, and somewhat reflected by her voice, her mood had been slightly dampened with longing, but she was quick to right herself. She'd observe him once more before she spoke: You're a handsome man. Call me Peach, if ya like.

Georgia's voice was mischievous, though her comment on his appearance was truthful. She wasn't typically one to flirt, but she wasn't at all censored when it came to her opinions. The peach was quite visibly checking him out.

he tilted his head, catching her lingering gaze with a curious flicker of his own. the pride that swelled within him at her admiration for his home was honest, plain as day, but her words—soft and lilting—wrapped around meanings he didn’t entirely understand. lucky was having enough meat to fill the pack, not… whatever it was she saw in his life.

when she mentioned his appearance, he let out a small, puzzled huff, glancing down as if expecting to see something unusual about himself. handsome. a word he recognized, but not one often tossed around in his world, where worth was measured in strength, in scars, in survival, not in appearances. she was strange in a way he could not grasp. the way her eyes moved over him, the teasing tilt of her voice—it all felt out of place, more like a riddle than something real.

peach, he repeated, testing the word on his tongue like a strange taste, glancing at her face to make sure he had it right. it felt as unfamiliar to him as her manner, but he’d use it all the same. if this was what she wanted, then so be it.

She noted his silence. A huff as he looked down at himself, like he couldn't believe her, and she chuckled a truthful laugh at that. A coat of fire, with a well-muscled figure and that height? That strong diamond upon his forehead, white against auburn shades, framing sea-like eyes. Georgia shrugged her shoulders back for a moment.

The nickname, sounding odd, like an uncanny sound from within his throat, was one that she had been bestowed by a friend quite the time ago. Past prickled on her skin. That's it, she confirmed. Georgia stood, then. Looking from the man to the continuity of the river, stretching down the bend. When she looked back at him, she smiled. 'n don't forget it, okay? Her voice was soft, now. Decorated with a country twang.

She'd take a step back, then. Preparing to continue walking. Allowing a moment of silence to stretch between them. I'm gonna go, she said. A polite nod followed, and then: Really was a pleasure to meet you, Sol. Thanks for havin' a chat with me. And she stood for a second, two, three, her tail swaying, before she'd turn to trot along the riverbed.

Georgia would take one last look behind her at the man before she continued on her way.

exit georgia!! i love him ,, thank you sm for the thread <3

sólhárr’s gaze lingered on her as she turned, watching the sway of her tail as she moved down the riverbank. his silence hung in the air, weighted with something he couldn’t name. there were no farewells where he came from, no final words—just actions, movements that held meaning.

he swallowed, chest tight with a peculiar ache, then called out, voice rough with an unfamiliar softness. far vel, peach.

the norse words rolled off his tongue, old and rooted, fitting like a mantle of his homeland he still wore proudly. he watched her disappear along the river's curve, the quiet pressing against him as he stood there alone, wondering at the strange, lingering warmth she left in her wake.