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."