Firefly Glen morgunsól

sólhárr’s single golden eye settled on her, unblinking as he considered her words. his jaw tightened, the muscles flexing beneath his auburn-furred cheeks, before he let out a short huff, the breath curling like smoke in the frigid air.

i am sólhárr, hárkonungr of forneskja, he began, his voice carrying the weight of authority but softened with a measured calm. he gestured toward the distant mountains with a slight nod. there, in our home, we have woman’s circle. my wife, callyope, leads it. his gaze flicked back to her, the edge of his brow lifting slightly. you would be welcome there.

he let the silence stretch for a moment, watching her work with the yarrow and resin, her careful movements speaking of knowledge not yet honed but certainly valuable. his tone lowered slightly, though it retained its blunt edge. forneskja takes all who prove themselves. not just hunters, fighters. you mend, you heal. that is power too.

his golden gaze lingered on her for a beat longer before he inclined his head, as if to punctuate his words. if you seek belonging, seek strength, forneskja is no pawn’s home. it is for wolves who shape their own worth. come, when ready.