Ouroboros Spine mundr

Luhtar stood just behind and to the side of Sólhárr, his own burden pressing heavily against his spine. The seal’s thick hide was stiff with frost, its once-sleek fur now coarse. Though the weight was considerable, and pressed harshly against his wounded shoulder and side, he carried it without complaint; he would do no less.

His ears twitched as the call reverberated through the quiet woodland, lingering like distant thunder. Luhtar shifted his stance, claws pricking into the snow, ears alert for any response. He noted the slight tilt of Sólhárr’s head, the way his leader’s single eye narrowed against the drift of a gentle breeze. The scent of Moonglow mingled with the crisp air.

Luhtar exhaled softly, a white plume escaping his nostrils. It had been a long journey—longer still for Sólhárr, who bore not just the bruises and aches, but the hollow ache of lost vision.

He didn’t speak. Words felt unnecessary against the hush of these woods.

Instead, he rolled his shoulders slightly under the seal’s weight, eyes scanning the edge of the trees for any sign of movement. They had come bearing gifts—hard-won, blood-earned. Now, they waited for the moonwoman.