Ouroboros Spine i need those

sólhárr listened with reverence as moonwoman spoke, her words unfolding like the pages of an ancient tale. his golden gaze flicked between the chieftains, taking in the weight of their traditions, the meaning behind their requests. the bride price, steeped in ritual and story, was not just a task to be completed—it was a promise, a test, a binding of his spirit to callyope and her kin.

six white foxes, seven otter, two lynx, one seal. a fair price for the radiant daughter of the moon. he nodded solemnly, acknowledging the list without hesitation. but it was the hunt for the great ram that stirred something deeper in his chest. moonsong. the name rolled over his tongue silently, carrying a gravity that set his blood thrumming.

it is a worthy task, he rumbled, his voice steady, though a flicker of something more—determination, perhaps even excitement—glimmered in his eye. one that i will see complete. whole.

his gaze turned to callyope then, softer, warmer, drawn into the warmth of her own. her belief in him was unspoken but unwavering, and he drew strength from it. he could face storms and spirits alike with her faith to guide him.

i will fast, and i will dream, he said, returning his attention to kukutux, his tone respectful but resolute. i will walk the storms and bring the ram to you. this path you set—i will walk it for callyope, for forneskja, and for the spirits who guard your stories.

he did not flinch at the mention of ghosts, nor the whispered presence of the siqniq kin. they were another layer to this bond he sought to forge. the spirits will welcome me, he said with quiet certainty, his paw brushing the edge of the boar pelt, because my love is true.

turning again to callyope, sólhárr allowed a faint smile to touch his lips, a flicker of warmth in the solemnity of the moment. her encouragement steadied him, and he carried it now like a shield against the trials to come.