Firefly Glen morgunsól

@Kalyska

sólhárr dropped the badger onto the frosted earth, the sharp sting of a claw mark still fresh across his cheek. blood trickled lazily down his jaw, pooling near his collarbone as his golden eye scanned the quiet forest.

his breath rose in heavy clouds against the crisp air, muscles tense but satisfied from the fight. the badger lay still, its weight a testament to his strength. with a flick of his tail, he wiped at the wound with the back of his paw, smearing crimson against his dark fur before settling into the stillness.

each step was taken with care and grace, as if her steps could cause pain to the already brittle earth in the heart of winter. small whisps of air trailed behind her, always in search of the familiar scents of herbs she would once surround herself in. but winter was not one to give, instead it took all the plants away, making her ache for days of lush greenery.

blood.

its metallic tang was all to familiar to her. her hazel eyes narrowed as she increased her pace. someone was hurt, someone may be in pain. even if she did not know what to do with her limited knowledge, she was a walking, bleeding heart ready to throw herself into harm's way.

and there he stood. triumphant, imposing, bleeding.

Yōkwe she said softly. Are you okay?

sólhárr stood over the lifeless badger, his bloodied cheek a stark contrast to the frost that painted the ground. the metallic scent of the kill mingled with his own, sharp in the cold air.

at her approach, his single golden eye shifted to the woman, her small frame cautious but curious. his brow raised, the faintest flicker of intrigue crossing his features. he did not answer immediately, taking her measure with a sweeping glance.

fine, he muttered in broken common, his voice low and rough. the word carried no warmth, merely fact. then his head tilted slightly, the question hanging heavier than his tone. alone?

she offered him a curt nod taking a cautious step forward. empathy was never in short supply even now for both the badger and the stranger. 

Yes, very alone, but help I can give. tail waving slowly, she held her head low, an offering that she was not threat. how often she had seen father offer such a gesture when promising her hand to another. meek he was but she was not.

Winter not good time to have such hurt. she spoke, her native tongue washing over her loose handle of a foreign language.

sólhárr raised a skeptical brow, his single golden eye narrowing slightly as he took her measure. the words were soft, careful, but he did not miss the tone of her offering—too eager, too ready. his gaze lingered on her lowered head before shifting to the badger at his feet.

alone, hm? he rumbled, the roughness of his voice carrying his doubt. he nudged the badger carcass with his paw, as if to test her claim. his head tilted, studying her with a deliberate slowness.

why you help? not your fight. the words were clipped, his common tongue as jagged as the bite of the wind around them, but there was no malice in his tone, only curiosity, tempered by caution.

trust did not come easy, that naivety did often get the best of her. she could feel his gaze wash over her like she was a child. so she lifted her head, mighty and proud.

Help everyone needs. No fight leave without scars.

she maintained her hazel eyes on him. hunger was a feeling familiar to her, hours spent ignoring it to traverse the forest in search of herbs or stay by the side of a birthing. her lanky frame was a testament to this which made it easy for her ignore what was no doubt a much needed meal in the dead of winter.

so instead she sat down, chest puffed out. she was woman, not a child.

sólhárr huffed through his nose, a low sound of reluctant amusement as the stubborn woman planted herself before him. her defiance was admirable, if not mildly irritating. his golden eye flicked over her form once more—thin, too thin for winter’s bite, yet her resolve did not waver.

he relented with a slight tilt of his head, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in the barest hint of a smirk.

fine. do it, then. his tone carried grudging acceptance, though he shifted slightly, keeping some distance. callyope would not be pleased if another woman’s scent clung to his coat, and sólhárr was not eager to invite her displeasure.

he gestured with a flick of his paw toward the badger carcass. but quick. no waste time. winter cold, and i not want to explain. his words were brusque, but the tension in his posture eased slightly, a sign of reluctant trust.

Kalyska’s ears flicked back slightly at Sólhárr’s brusque tone, but she didn’t let it deter her. his words might have been curt, but the fact that he was allowing her to help spoke volumes. she moved toward him with careful, deliberate steps, her hazel eyes briefly scanning his frame. the badger had fought hard—it always did in the end.

Time never waste when healing. she said her voice calm but steady. If slow then frostbite comes for me.

her gaze flicked to his face, but only briefly. she didn’t need his approval. 

her paw brushed lightly over the wounded area, her touch gentle as she examined the extent of the damage. Badger fights like we do. But cut not deep, good for no scars.

Kalyska begun to push together a small pile of snow until the mound and held no debris.

Lay down she ordered. the scent of others clung to his pelt with one more predominant than the others. he belonged to a pack, that much was clear to her. slowly fear crept in as she wondered if she had intruded on another's territoy.

sólhárr’s single golden eye remained fixed on her, the sharpness of his gaze unyielding as he eased down into a seated position. the badger’s claw marks stung with the bite of fresh air, but his expression betrayed no pain, only quiet scrutiny. she was stubborn, that much was clear.

he tilted his head slightly, the dark fur along his shoulders ruffling in the cold wind. his curiosity wasn’t idle; it was a test, one she’d begun to pass simply by standing her ground.

why alone? he asked, his voice low and unhurried, his broken common tongue rough around the edges. his brow lifted, an unspoken challenge lingering in his words as he settled his weight fully into the snow, his posture no longer imposing but still commanding.

no pack? no family? the questions fell like stones into still water, his tone blunt but not unkind. if she sought refuge or alliance, she would have to offer more than fleeting words and bold persistence.

Kalyska didn’t flinch under his gaze, though the weight of it pressed against her like a challenge she refused to yield to. with steady paws, her movements careful but efficient she used the clean snow to clean the wound. Clean wound avoid illness she said in a soothingly, practiced tone. His questions still hung in the air between them, stark and cold as the winter wind. 

No pack, she answered finally, her voice quiet but firm, like a stone worn smooth by years of hardship.

Her hazel eyes flicked up to meet his golden one, a flicker of pain shadowing her resolve before she looked away. Fire took everything. The words were simple, but the way they caught in her throat betrayed the depth of the loss.

white snow became stained red as dirt that clung to the badgers claw begun to detach from the wound. she took her focus towards a bank were bare remnants of a plant grew. yarrow. 

she finished cleaning the wound before lifting herself onto her paws, her breath clouding in the frigid air. Alone since then, she admitted, her tone almost dismissive, as if the ache of solitude wasn’t worth acknowledging. No family, home. Just this.

her gaze returned to him, sharper now, with a quiet defiance that burned beneath the surface. But alone no mean weak. voice softened, a touch of vulnerability breaking through the edge. We do what we must to survive. Even if means in snow patching strangers.

her lips curved in the faintest hint of a smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. Now, stay. Yarrow near helps with bleeding. on that note, she determinedly went to retrieve the plant hoping one of the trees would grace her with resin.

sólhárr watched her with the cool indifference of a hunter inspecting prey. his golden eye, sharp as a blade, lingered on her movements—the way her paws searched for yarrow, the practiced motions of her tending. his chuff was low, rumbling with neither approval nor disdain, merely acknowledgment.

you need home, he said finally, his voice rough, each word an effort in the common tongue. his gaze flicked toward the distant horizon, where the mountains of forneskja loomed. not snow. not alone.

he remained still as she worked, unimpressed by her defiance, though it stirred something akin to respect in him. she was stubborn, this one, but stubbornness alone did not grant survival in the north. strength demanded more than just will; it demanded kin, hearth, purpose.

he tilted his head, studying her again as she turned back with her gathered herbs. why not find one? pack. family. the words carried weight, but his tone made it clear he would not plead for her answer. she would survive, or she would not. the north was unkind, and so was he.