Ouroboros Spine máni

for MOONWOMAN!

the night had settled thick over moonglow, draping its shroud of stars and cold air across the quiet land. the fires of the village had dimmed to smoldering embers, and the wolves within their dens had long fallen into the rhythm of sleep. yet, sólhárr found no rest.

stretched along the outskirts of the village, the northwolf lay awake, his golden eyes fixed on the moon—máni—looming pale and heavy above the pines. the night held its usual silence, broken only by the occasional rustle of branches or the distant call of an owl. the stillness was not peaceful for him, but restless. his broad frame was a shadow against the snow, blending into the night like the wolf he was, yet his thoughts were far from quiet.

he thought of callyope, the woman who had wound her way so thoroughly into his soul. her strength, her grace, her fire—it burned in his chest now, a steady ache that he welcomed. her mother, @Kukutux, had spoken of the spirits, of their guidance, and of the path that sólhárr and callyope would walk together.

do you speak now? he murmured softly into the night, his deep voice low and rough as if the spirits might hear him better through the still air. his gaze stayed fixed on máni, as if the pale light might hold the answers he sought. the cold seeped into his fur, but he did not shift, did not stir.

the spirits. what would they say? sólhárr had not been a man of words before callyope, nor one to consider much beyond survival and strength. but now he found himself longing—for her, for their future, for the promises whispered between them. would the spirits honor them? would they approve of his taking her as wife, his bringing her into the ways of the north?