Golden Glade i'll follow you into the dark

The quiet was what drew Qvasir, though he came upon her with the grace of snow falling from the branches. His gaze, steady and unyielding, lingered on the small cove where Mictec lay, the bloodied hare before her a stark contrast to the unbroken white surrounding them. He did not speak immediately, watching her, letting the rawness of the moment breathe.

When he did speak, his voice was low, meant only for her. Even the strongest trees bend under the weight of winter.

Qvasir sat a small distance away, his posture relaxed yet commanding, his eyes soft but unwavering. He tilted his head toward the hare.

A pause. Then he ventured, Is the burden too much today? It wasn’t pity; it was a question offered with the understanding of one who knew the weight of living with scars unseen.