Neverwinter Forest kanevvluk ‡

unknown wolves not of the moon moved in neverwinter.

scouts whispered.

callyope had not come home for a long while. kukutux held worry, but also an edge of irritation.

she came alone to the forest, cloaked in brilliant red foxfur, and she exercised the right that had always been her own, to enter.

but these scents she did not know. and why was that of her daughter among them?

sólhárr felt the shift in the air as the moon-colored woman emerged, her figure quiet yet undeniable, carrying an aura of wisdom that pressed him instinctively to the earth. @Callyope was close, a comforting presence beside him, but his gaze remained respectfully lowered, ears pinned back in reverence to the elder.

móðir, he murmured, his voice low, though he knew she was not his own. the scent of callyope upon her, mingling with that of herbs and forested places, reminded him of his own kin and yet marked her as different, older, formidable in her silence. he dared a brief glance, catching the depth in her eyes, a hint of the scars that mapped her life upon her face and shoulder.

i am sólhárr, of forneskja, he offered softly, glancing to callyope. she is here. his words were careful, an explanation, an assurance, as he sensed the weight of her worry and something sharper. he was not giving her up. sólhárr would let himself fall to the ground before the elder woman, an unquestionable display that he recognized her position.

she needed to return, she knew.

but she stayed and she twined red strings of fate around her and sólhárr. a messy affair she knew. yet she hoped that when she walked back up into the grasp of moonglow, that he would be there. that he would speak freely about his wants, his wishes.

they were discovered before this, she should have known.

moonwoman knew all.

anaa knew even more.

she was not far and she swept onto the scene, featherlight. pleased to see that the autumn man had draped himself so respectfully. he had also announced her. cheeks flushed hot, but she knew this would be the moment of truth between all of them.

she could hide nothing, she could not pretend.

to do such would be an insult to her mother.

anaa, perhaps she should have lowered herself too. she was not looking to hide from this, though. i told him he must come speak to you and father. she hoped that sólhárr would not feel snubbed by her speaking only her mother's tongue now.

polite he wished to be, but his familiarity reminded kukutux starkly of kigipigak, of that moment's disrespect.

she had no words for the tall firewolf then, perhaps a passing flicker of amusement that callyope too had chosen a flame. he cast himself before her, and greenstone eyes watched in silence, comforted by the display even as her ire rose that he had addressed her so comfortably, this solharr.

they stood together. kukutux did not question this, but it was to her daughter she spoke now. "no one has come. i must find for myself that you run with strange ones in a place they were not invited. this land is sacred. the lake is sacred."

what foundation now lay here? "what do you build, daughter? will he become sunshine?" he was different; his language was not their own, and she doubted his ways would be. 

bound by tradition, kukutux felt the weight of her age. solharr could have come at any time. callyope was no foolish girl but a woman. why did she then sneak and drift and hide? in the face of her granddaughters' obedience, the chagrin of a daughter felt unbearable.

sólhárr would remain bared upon the ground, unmoving. this woman, anaa, as his songbird called her, was a divine ray of what reflected upon her. he could see the resemblance as plain as day. he did not move a muscle, and would remain steadfast beneath the glow of the green-eyed woman's gaze.

they spoke in tongues. his songbird sang a tune that he could not understand, but it seemed peaceful, for now. he let them converse, knowing full well that it is better to communicate in one's own tongue. he thought briefly if elska would teach him hers, as he would shed light upon his.

anaa did not seem upset, from her tone, though he could guess that is how she always appeared. collected. a wise, spiritual matriarch. how his body dared to quiver before her, though he only maintained eye contact between both moon-colored women.

she did not hide, she did not waver now.

how could she! the man still stood here, he had greeted her mother first. if his intent had been to flee at the first sight of any kind of responsibility, then it seemed he had missed the chance.

she looked to him for a moment. thoughtful, eyes warm upon him.

he is a builder. he is a learner. gaze for him now when she spoke. as if she admired a fine piece of work. it was just as quick to return back to the face of her mother.

i believe he means to have things to show you, before he spoke to you. i told him a price will be asked if his wishes were me. could her mother begrudge such a thing? callyope knew it would be well within her rights. forneskja — a word he would know. his own word! is a place he builds. traditional, spiritual. different but not so different as to refuse learning.

maybe mother had been here before, a different man and a different daughter.

callyope wanted this story to end differently too.

speak to him. please.

sorry for her D:

forneskja.

a word not her own, uplifted in callyope's words.

rodyn had built moontide for samani. kigipigak, for his faults, had built moonsong for ariadne. helmed always were the daughters of the moon. it had been her lifelong work to give them status and now callyope was willing to surrender this for a new creed.

different was not sunshine. callyope would be eaten by what she meant to found here, stolen as kigipigak had done. this land should belong in name to the nuiruk, and now it would not.

but kukutux had learned with ariadne.

now she turned her springjade eyes upon the tall man waiting in respectful silence. she would not reject him; callyope knew her mind and though the duck closed now to the forest, to the peace she had felt might come, she knew too that to stand against this would be to sour blood — to mass conflict where there need be none.

a breaking of tradition with a pawful of turned earth. callyope meant to build in his name. in his ways.

do not speak against it or you will lose another daughter, tooteega warned; a chert knifeblade to an aching heart.

"i am kukutux, moonwoman. her father is aiolos. sun man." maintained! tonality; evenness. her eyes warmed gently, for despite all her many thoughts, callyope regarded him with the same softness in her face. he had given respect, and in this too she discovered comfort.

the happiness of her daughter was tantamount.

her eyes moved between them. "when you choose the time, come to the village moonglow. we will eat and speak of your bride price, daughter. and we would hear you share the words of your ways, solharr," the duck offered, finding contentment in his strength. the children he might give callyope would be beautiful. it was what crane woman wished, and she had power now at her side to do it.

let it be, daughter, Lynx murmured.

quietly kukutux pulled the vulpine wrap from her shoulders, moving to arrange it gently around callyope.

the northern wolf’s broad shoulders sank in quiet reverence as he held himself before kukutux, moonwoman and mother of his beloved songbird. with measured care, he took in her words, the weight of her gaze—a wisdom deeper than roots and as steadfast as the mountains.

her voice was calm yet sure, and her invitation to moonglow stirred his chest with a muted pride. he would come, for her, for callyope, for the life they might make together in the traditions that she upheld so fiercely, even as they bent.

his people’s ways wove thickly in his bones, the strength of his ancestors living yet within him. callyope’s heart knew this and did not tremble.

he dipped his head lower, his voice rich but unadorned, a humbling acceptance in each syllable. kukutux, aiolos—my gratitude.

this honor she extended was met with the full measure of his respect, a wordless pact in the folds of tradition and blood. he watched her drape her wrap around her daughter, noting the tenderness in her hands, a gesture he would carry in memory to moonglow.

her mother was kindness.

she could have wept for it all! perhaps later she very well might. not out of sadness, but out of the wellspring of relief. gratitude. she was not sure if she would let sólhárr see it.

maybe, maybe.

a wrapping of a foxfur around her shoulders now. where once a ramskin had laid as an engagement gift. he did not boast, he did not cheer, he did not exclaim himself so great a man as to have a Nuiruk woman wish to wed him.

instead he remained respectful. he voiced his own gratitude when she could not.

she only moved to softly kiss her mother's cheek. soon, she wished to say. i love you, she wanted to whisper. yet she feared any words uttered might be creaky with emotion! so she refrained. only the image of a woman enamored with a man and awed by a moonwoman in equal turns.

a smile toward each, a nod for the ikuallaktuk beside her daughter.

one kiss for callyope's silken forehead.

but as she turned, kukutux felt the coldness of the forest settle around her bare shoulders.

a daughter dead.

a daughter dead.

a daughter ill.

a daughter turned to new ways.

in pride she departed what was once moongrove, thinking now that her focus must be the granddaughters moving between moonpacks. she would be here as anaa when callyope called for her; she would hold the children of forneskja and see the moonblood rise in them.

her aim, always, to expand the lineage built by herself and sun man.

moonsong. moonstone. both homes that the children of her daughters might claim.