Ouroboros Spine mundr

sólhárr remained still beneath kukutux's careful hands, his broad frame taut with the endurance of a man accustomed to pain. but her touch, though firm, carried a gentleness that was foreign to him—a soothing balm against the harshness he had always known. his amber eyes flickered downward, watching her work with a quiet respect. she was callyope’s blood, her wisdom etched into every deliberate movement.

snow is good, he murmured in his broken tongue, the words low and steady. cold made me. cold made her. we wed in cold. the thought pleased him, the idea of their union bound in the very element that defined him, that shaped her strength and resilience. his lips twitched into the faintest of smiles, rare and fleeting.

the mention of the feast, the dances, and the songs stirred something deeper within him. he was a man of the north, of wilderness and ferocity, but he could understand the meaning of such unity, the weight of tradition that kukutux offered. we will leave after, he said simply, his gaze lifting to meet hers, unwavering. but not far. always return. callyope is of you. i am hers. the declaration was both a promise and a truth, his loyalty unshakable.

as kukutux turned to tend his companion, sólhárr sat back, his broad shoulders relaxing slightly. he glanced toward the faint line of the horizon visible beyond the hearth, the snow-laden forest glowing faintly in the moonlight. spirits speak loud here, he added after a moment, his voice quieter now. they bless this union. we honor them.

he dipped his head in acknowledgment of the moonwoman’s care, his gratitude unspoken but clear in the weight of his gaze. rest was what she prescribed, and rest was what they would take. their strength would be needed for the days to come, for the union in the snow, and for the journey that awaited beyond it.