Moonstone Quarry hits the six, and it's summer

AW — maybe moonglow or forneskja? eyes

trade: spiritualist

bathed. clean-pelted, pine-smelling. careful in his steps, avoiding anything that could dirty his pelt. travelling under the light of the máni, stepping away from the budding of forneskja only for a few moments. an hour or two, just some time for him to worship.

something had caught his eye the day prior while he had been patrolling. a crater in the ground that shone with clear pools, the faintest glittering hinting at the presence of crystals. and he had returned, now, when the night was navy and cold. thick, mountain-suited pelt warmed him as the midnight winds swished around him.

limestone stood beneath him, now, as his paws grasped at the edge of the crater. scarlet eyes scanned the walls for a way down, steep, though not impossible. a learnt art from the mountain goats. he was down within twenty, maybe thirty minutes, though not completely unscathed. rocks had tugged at his pelt, and a few slate-coloured hairs littered the walls. nonetheless, they would grow back, and so he continued.

the shadow looked into the pools, now. the máni, in all of her glowing glory, shone above. refracted, broken in the reflection. and he dipped his nose, then craned his neck to reach his forehead into the water. a connection from mind to lunar. he would dip his paw in, then, and reached back to his chest. from lunar to heart. a prayer was spoken, hushed, as if only to be heard by the máni herself:

í ljósi þínu gefum við upp okkur. þín börn, trúr og heiðarlegur. mætti dýrð okkar dýrð þín, og mætti velgjöf þín veita okkur styrk. þú ert tunglin okkar, og við erum þínir þjónar. að eilífu, eins og það hefur verið, og alltaf mun vera.

his head was raised as he said this, and when his eyes opened, full, almost near-tears, they seemed to glow with the reflection of the goddess above of him. when he looked back down, he would continue further into the quarry, searching for a larger pool to relish within. perhaps he would even stumble upon a mánasteinn.

rökkur of tunglbörn. he trudged forwards with a heavy heart. a sorrow for his past and a love for his goddess that coexisted, interacted, merged with one another. the further he went, the more he yearned for the spire. to be atop the world, gazing upon the moon.

but those times were long gone, and now he was rökkur of forneskja. his religion, his beliefs, now his own. belonging to him, and only him.

Luhtar had been restless. The pull of the forest, of the wildness that surrounded Forneskja, had always been hard to ignore. Tonight, it was no different. His paws carried him through the thick pines without much thought, following Rökkur’s faint scent trail. It wasn’t that he had planned to find the dark-pelted wolf, but Rökkur’s distinct scent, clean and sharp with pine, had been impossible to miss. Curiosity tugged at him, as it often did when it came to Rökkur’s strange habits.

He wasn’t sure what he expected when he found the other wolf, but it wasn’t this. From his vantage point at the edge of the crater, Luhtar’s yellow eyes caught the faint shimmer of the pools below, their surfaces rippling with moonlight. Rökkur’s figure moved with deliberate reverence, a silhouette etched against the pale glow of the water. It was... solemn. Sacred, maybe. The sight gave Luhtar pause. He wasn’t unfamiliar with faith—Solharr spoke often of traditions and belief—but this was something else entirely. There was a weight to it, something deeply personal, almost fragile.

Still, Luhtar wasn’t one for hesitation, and he rarely allowed himself to dwell on things he didn’t understand for too long.

“May I join you down there?” he called out, his voice rough but not unkind. His gaze followed Rökkur’s movements, noting the dip of his nose into the pool, the almost ceremonial gesture of paw to chest. It struck him as strange but... intentional. It wasn’t something Luhtar could mock, not outright. He didn’t know enough to judge it, though that didn’t stop his natural bluntness from surfacing.

He moved toward the edge of the crater, peering down at the steep incline. Rökkur’s descent had been careful, leaving only faint traces of his path, but Luhtar wasn’t so graceful. The loose rocks and sharp angles made his progress clumsy, his paws sliding more than once as he grumbled low under his breath. When he finally reached the bottom, he shook himself off with a short huff, dislodging dirt and dust from his thick coat.

“I didn't think I would find you here.” he said as he approached, his voice lowering to match the quiet of the space. A lie, since he'd been following him, but he didn't want to admit that so openly.

trade: spiritualist

a voice called from the rim, and rökkur turned slowly, startled, though such a feeling was not presented outwardly. instead, his range of movement was wide, looking back to the stranger with a tall stance and studious eyes, scarlet and analytical. rökkur did not reply.

instead, he watched the man descend, rather awkwardly, down the face of the quarry, shaking off his pelt and then approaching. the shadow took a step back when he did, unwilling to be dirtied. almost offended at the intrusion, the interruption of his worship, but his face was placid. calm. shielding his innermost thoughts; feelings.

the voice of the man was low and, what rökkur thought to be, respectful of the holiness that surrounded him. he dipped his head: i did not think i would find myself here, either, he agreed, a vagueness lilting on his tongue. but an explanation was to follow, reverent and telling of his beliefs: not until the light guided me. he looked up.

eyes settled on the moon that shone from above, light painting each wall of the crater, framed by its rim. pools glimmered as its glow refracted within the water. a place that whispered of the máni and her stories. he looked back to the stranger, then. but his scent was familiar. you smell of forneskja. he observed.

a tone of disapproval followed, though his eyes remained gentle. merciful, almost. frustrated, though not angered. disappointed, though not rageful. instead, a careful question: did you follow me? of which he could assume the answer.

“Yes, I am Forneskjan.” he admitted after a beat, his voice low but steady, tinged with his usual roughness. There was no point in denying it outright; Rökkur was sharp enough to see through any half-hearted deflection. “And I did follow you.”

His yellow eyes met Rökkur’s, holding the other wolf’s gaze for a moment before shifting back to the pools. The moonlight danced on their surfaces, casting faint, wavering reflections onto the walls of the crater. It was beautiful, though Luhtar wouldn’t have been the type to say so aloud.

“I wasn’t trying to interrupt,” he added, his voice quieter now, lacking its usual edge. “You don’t see things like this often. Places like this. It’s... different.” He gestured vaguely with his muzzle, his words struggling to keep pace with his thoughts.

Rökkur’s disapproval lingered in the air, and Luhtar shifted his weight slightly, his posture loosening but not retreating. There was a part of him that wanted to apologize, to explain himself more fully, but the words felt awkward and unnecessary. Instead, he settled for honesty, or at least as close to it as he could manage.

“You are our Sögumaðr. The keeper of our history, our peoples.” His gaze flicked back to Rökkur, his tone carrying the faintest note of curiosity. “That’s why I followed you. Not to bother you. I wish to speak. It is late... I cannot sleep.” His ears tilted forwards, twitching with an air of decency.

"I will leave if you wish."

trade: spiritualist

at least he was one to admit his misdemeanors. he would not speak as of yet, letting the man argue his reasoning for following after the sögumaðr. he watched as he looked down to the pools, then to their refractions on the walls, and nodded, as if silently saying: yes, they are quite beautiful.

and he spoke, now, explaining himself. he was polite, that was something rökkur could appreciate. but his lack of honour for such a place of such clear reverence somewhat disturbed the faith-man. and as if his disapproval were fog, it seemed to linger, and the forneskjan did not appear quite thrilled. again, he spoke.

you are right, he confirmed. turning away, then, he flicked his tail ; a silent invitation for the man to follow. deeper he would go, searching for moonstone. i am glad that you have come to me, but know that there is no need to stalk along. we may walk side by side, and i will show you that in which you wish to know.

descending the levels of the quarry, he found himself at the bottom, now searching the rocky grounds for the treasure he sought. speak to me, rökkur hummed, turning, again, to face the one who sought wisdom. and i will listen.

He let out a low, careful breath before speaking.

“I’m not used to this,” he began, his voice subdued, lacking the rough edge he wore so easily in daylight. “Not used to places where spirits seem close, or where the past is... alive.”

He paused, glancing at Rökkur as he worked, eyes searching the ground for something hidden and precious. Luhtar wondered if the stone he sought carried meaning the way these pools did.

“I can’t sleep,” he repeated quietly, as if that single truth explained more than it seemed. “I don’t know where I stand here. Forneskja is different—softer, maybe. Warmer. You are the one who holds the stories. You might tell me if I have a place in them.”

He shifted his stance, claws scraping lightly against the quarry floor. A few stray shards of stone scattered beneath his paws.

“Solharr said... maybe your stories, your knowledge, could guide me.” His yellow eyes lifted, meeting Rökkur’s steady gaze. “If you will tell me... about Forneskja, our story, the path we walk—I’ll listen.”

trade: spiritualist

here, luhtar was vulnerable, something that he wore like a decade-old coat. too tight, no longer fitting as it may have once, roughened and dirtied, tossed to the side. but it seemed, now, that perhaps he could stretch it out, that he could wear his vulnerability and be comfortable within it. but, not yet, rökkur did not think. many things could happen in a single night, but to rework the comfort of expressing ones self would take many, many days and nights. and so it went compartmentalised, neatly tucked into the back of rökkur's mind. not yet spoken on ; only when luhtar was ready.

it is the first step that matters most. he guided, looking from the glacier-blue of his eyes back to the stone of the quarry, searching for that milky shine that was so commonly attributed to the gem he sought after. an item that máni may accept as a gift. and luhtar was searching for his place, his duty to forneskja, just as the faith-man searched for the stone. you wish to hear stories, the guardian hummed. then it is the tales i will tell you. but it is you who must interpret them, my friend.

and just as he was about to halt his search, a glimmer caught his eye, and so rökkur worked his way towards it, looking back to luhtar, beckoning him with a wide sway of his tail. he carefully nudged the stone out of the cropping, pale and refracted with light of all hues. placing it down upon the floor of the quarry, it sat between the two men. rökkur was settled on his haunches, now, facing luhtar. you are brave, he begun, body stilled, as if he was becoming one with the stone ; as if animated by a higher presence.

you have sought wisdom in the face of uncomfortability, and that makes you strong ; you have the spirit of a warrior, luhtar. of sól, god of sun, of light, of courage. he bore his weight admirably, and lit the days for our wolves so that they may flourish and hunt. it is his light that encourages máni to shine, and you are the same in the way in which you encourge so many forneskjans. the faith-man took a breath, then, but was quick to continue, ever the servant to those seeking spiritual knowledge.

it is up to you to forge your own path, he said, then, his tone returning to that of a mere mortal. no longer echoing throughout the cave, quieted, intimate, as if it were only for the moonstone between them to hear. but you must harness your confidence, and the strength of your spirit. i see much potential within you ; i see you protecting, fighting for the wolves of forneskja. you are honoured, luhtar.

rökkur stood, then, and looked up to the moon. it had shifted since he had entered. his gaze returned to luhtar. do you wish to seek a moonstone of your own? it may provide comfort for when you are feeling misguided. he nudged the gem with his paw.

sorry for the delay!

Luhtar listened in silence, the chill of the quarry’s stone floor seeping into his paws as he stood there, steady, unmoving. Stoic. Rökkur’s words were measured and calm, an odd comfort in the strange place. He watched the faith-man reveal the moonstone, its milky shimmer catching his eye and stirring something quiet in his chest.

He’d never been a wolf for stories before—hadn’t been raised to see meaning in stones or the soft glow of moonlight. Yet here he stood, leaning into the unfamiliar, trying to understand. Rökkur’s description—his spirit compared to that of a warrior, linked to the warm courage of Sól—caught him off guard. Him, encouraging others? That was a new thought to carry. But it wasn’t unpleasant.

He wanted to trust the path they offered, to see himself as worthy of their light, but deep-rooted doubts still weighed him down.

His chest rose and fell, breathing slowly against the knotted tension. Rökkur saw something honorable in him, but what if it was an illusion? What if he failed to live up to that image, to the faith entrusted in him? There was always a voice in the back of his mind, telling him he didn’t deserve such purpose or praise.

The quarry’s hush pressed in around them, making his words feel heavier, more honest than he’d intended. “I’ve listened to the stories, I listen to yours now, tried to live by them. But... it’s not that I don’t understand,” he paused, jaw working silently for a moment. “It’s that sometimes, I doubt myself. I doubt I’m worthy of what they expect.”

He lowered his head, gaze drifting to the moonstone shimmering faintly between them. He wanted to believe that Sól’s light could burn through his insecurities, that the Máni’s gentle glow might guide him through nights of doubt. “I’m invested. I want to be part of this—truly—but I... struggle. With myself, mostly. With the idea that I can live up to these stories, honor our gods as I should.”

A softness crept into his yellow eyes, a sort of plea for understanding. “If a moonstone can help me find some peace, I’ll seek one."

no stress!! <3

trade: spiritualist

luhtar's silence only emphasised the thought that shone behind a pale gaze. and when he spoke, the faith-man would listen, ears twitching, as if to bring themselves forwards and drink in the words that were said, confined within the holiness that the quarry wrought.

doubt was what he spoke of, and rökkur nodded, understanding. you are not expected to live up to stories of grandeur ; of gods who battle for pride and power, of warriors who defeated whole armies in their lonesome, luhtar. his voice was soft, then, comforting, as he understood these doubts, these insecurities. the thought that one was not what he should be, what others expected him to be. and the man gave a sigh.

his breath, long, almost exhausted, spoke of a past of his own, though he would not detail it ; he would not teach his own tales, not the true, raw versions of them. one day, when forneskja needed them, he would relent, but there was no use for such retellings now. you are only expected to forge your own. to be who you believe it is right to be. it is your doubt that proves your lack of arrogance, and it is arrogance that is even the strongest mans downfall. he had seen it time and time again.

standing, then, a soft smile formed upon the guardian's face. there is no right way to honour our gods, luhtar, only that you let their presence strengthen you ; that your prayers are not made out of greed, but out of belief. and you do not seem to be a greedy man, a perceiving gaze flickered over the warrior's figure, watchful, studious, before it returned back to his own eyes. the gods themselves would be the honoured ones to have a man such as yourself hold faith in them. a nod.

then, he would move away, a short flick of his tail inviting luhtar to follow suit. we will find you a moonstone. you should speak to sólhárr of what your role should be. ask him of protecting, luhtar. i believe that may be your calling. he could see it within him, in the way he stood still, unmoving, in the way that a gentleness shone behind his eyes ; unspeaking, though telling of more than words could ever convey.

it was up to him, though, to find his place. rökkur could only guide him so far.

feel free to fade this out soon !! love luhtar sm omg

we need to thread these two again soon <3

Luhtar listened, each word settling like slow-falling snow, quieting the restless voice inside his own mind. The faith-man’s understanding wove through the silence, gentle and patient, giving Luhtar permission to be flawed, to question, to find his own stride in a world measured by countless legends and ancient names.

He released a low breath, shoulders easing as some unseen knot loosened in his chest. The quarry walls seemed closer now, as if sheltering their exchange, and he wondered if this was what it meant to find guidance among rocks and old stories—to feel less alone in doubt, to understand that the gods did not demand perfection, only honesty.

Rökkur’s suggestions—speaking with Sólhárr, considering a protector’s role—stirred a cautious warmth in Luhtar’s heart. Protecting, caring, fighting not just for himself but for others... it felt like something he could believe in. Something right. His yellow eyes lifted to meet Rökkur’s again, gratitude resting behind that muted gaze.

“Not greedy, no,” he said quietly, as if confirming Rökkur’s judgment. “I only want to do right. To stand strong for Forneskja.” A pause, the corners of his mouth twitching toward a faint, earnest smile. “I will speak to him.”

The smooth surface of the moonstone beckoned softly, reflecting their shapes in pale light. Luhtar stepped after Rökkur, ready to search for a stone of his own, ready to try. The uncertainty was still there, lingering like a whisper, but so was a renewed sense of purpose. He would learn to honor the gods in his own steady way, and maybe, as Rökkur said, they would be honored in turn.

Without another word, he followed the faith-man deeper into the quarry, leaving doubt and fear behind, if only for a time, as they went to find a piece of the night’s quiet wisdom.