The Heartwood Slowly tears you apart

sólhárr listened intently, his gaze thoughtful as he nodded at the mention of kukutux, the moonwoman. her name carried weight, and hearing it from this tundra man's lips was both a comfort and a reminder of the significance of the ties he sought to forge.

no worries for the oversight, he replied, his voice steady and warm despite the lingering tension of their earlier exchange. the hide will serve, if it can, and if not, it is no fault of yours. i appreciate your aid, kigipigak. he paused, his eyes drifting to the bled-out buck before returning to his companion. you are a good man.

at the question of the bride price, sólhárr's expression shifted, a mixture of pride and anticipation. i have yet to be told my bride price, he admitted. but i prepare for the moment. i have hunted boars for their tusks, salvaged their pelts. gifts, offerings—proof that i am a good man. a worthy man. there was a flicker of something deeper in his eyes: determination, devotion, perhaps even a hint of nervousness.

callyope deserves the best, and i will give her nothing less. his words carried a weight of conviction, spoken as if to assure himself as much as his companion. with that, he fell silent, nodding once more to kigipigak as if to reaffirm his gratitude before returning his focus to the task at hand.