Moonstone Quarry hits the six, and it's summer

He let out a low, careful breath before speaking.

“I’m not used to this,” he began, his voice subdued, lacking the rough edge he wore so easily in daylight. “Not used to places where spirits seem close, or where the past is... alive.”

He paused, glancing at Rökkur as he worked, eyes searching the ground for something hidden and precious. Luhtar wondered if the stone he sought carried meaning the way these pools did.

“I can’t sleep,” he repeated quietly, as if that single truth explained more than it seemed. “I don’t know where I stand here. Forneskja is different—softer, maybe. Warmer. You are the one who holds the stories. You might tell me if I have a place in them.”

He shifted his stance, claws scraping lightly against the quarry floor. A few stray shards of stone scattered beneath his paws.

“Solharr said... maybe your stories, your knowledge, could guide me.” His yellow eyes lifted, meeting Rökkur’s steady gaze. “If you will tell me... about Forneskja, our story, the path we walk—I’ll listen.”