Stone Circle the winds of winter

sjandein (standing stones)
assuming he's joined up by now, but that thread is ongoing! hope its ok.

the sky was overcast again, like the night he had arrived. there was no rain — there wasn't even the usual petrichor the herald a shift in the weather — but willow was suspicious of the sky all the same. autumn was on its way out and soon things would be worse-off for everyone: rain wasn't a worry any longer, but snow instead.
he sat with his back against one of the obelisks in the field. it was tall and slanting, and not all that comfortable, but from this vantage point he could look up at the sky and judge the clouds. maybe there was a better use for his time; however, willow was keen to be ready ahead of the worst that winter could offer.

Skáld had spent some time along the borders, pausing in one particular where a strangely familiar scent had lingered some time ago. He’d noticed it while patrolling, but hadn’t recognized it. Taurus had been the one to deal with that visitor, and then the visitor had left. Something in the back of his memory cried out for attention, but he couldn’t place the scent. 

Days went on, and he forgot about it. Now, it was just a part of his usual routine to patrol, and then start tracking through the grasslands for some sign of a meal. 

His search often brought him to the Stone Circle, where the grasses were sheltered by the stones, and favourable to rabbits. But rather than finding a rabbit, he instead came upon a wolf- an unfamiliar face which brought a look of surprise to his face- leaning back against one of the stones.

”Oh, hello,” He greeted. ”You are, ehm, new?”

the sound of a voice drew willow's attention immediately, and he sat up, looking to be off-balance for a moment as he swayed forward. when he got a good look at the approaching person he saw it was a boy; not just a boy, though, but the prettiest looking boy he'd probably ever seen? their fur was warm, but also it had a buoyancy to it that willow had never seen upon anyone before.

ah, yes, i am, he answered awkwardly as he got to his feet, clearing his throat and then shaking the grass out of his furs; some of the grass had stained his rear-end where he'd been sprawled, but he did not see it.

my name is willow.

"Willow?" He repeated softly, searching for a moment within his vocabulary, as the word sounded quiet familiar. Once he came to the realization, his features brightened. "Ah! It is like the tree, yes? Tree with many ehm, long, ehm..." He lifted his forepaws, as if to mimic the flowing branches. His curls swayed and dangled from his heavily feathered legs; for a wolf, he did a fairly good impression of a tree. "I forget...'tree-legs,'" He admitted. The word escaped him, but he lowered his paws to the ground, figuring he'd either made his point, or made himself look like a bit of a fool. 

He gave Willow a shy grin. "I am Skáld. It is good to meet you," He said, tail waving. "You are liking here?"

sometimes willow wondered what had drawn his parents to the name, but it didn't take much guess-work. it was a pretty effeminate thing for a little girl, and he had always been an elfin creature; but the name did not hold much weight for him now, and he wasn't super attached to it. if anything, it was a reminder that his parents didn't really get him; but at the same time, willow didn't want to shed this link back to those he loved so much.
skald moved in a way to mimic the hanging boughs of the willow tree, earning a shy (but genuine) smile from willow in turn. yes, tree-legs, what a curious person.
it is nice here. i am curious about these stones, though... have they always been here? he wondered if the wolves had found a way to move them, or build them; but that seemed too impossible! how had they come to be here, and why?

While he hoped that Willow might supply the English word that he could not remember, he blinked and smiled, a fragile but friendly gesture when the wolf simply nodded and seemed to understand what he meant. He might have to ask one of the kids later; either that, or it likely existed in his vocabulary but would remain out of his reach until right before he was about to fall asleep.

He looked up at the tall, lean stones and nodded. ”Big stones, here long time. Longer than wolves,” He hypothesized. As to their origin, Skáld had only one theory and it came with a slight shrug of his shoulder and a kindly grin. ”Chips of moon, fall here.”

Skald explained what he knew of the stones. Willow didn't see any reason to doubt the assumptions, and wondered if one day the fields would be littered with as many stones as there were stars; what would cause these chips of moon to fall? He looked up at the open sky, seeing the hazy, distant moon against the blue, and then looked again to the stones.

They were slanted in different ways. Some had fallen entirely, and others were rubble. He had seen small rockfalls in the mountains that looked like this — so maybe Skald was right. Something falling from as high as the moon might become stuck like this, or broken.

Moonstones. He mused, and smiled.