Golden Glade first dawn

He offered no greeting, only a slight dip of his head as acknowledgment before his attention returned to the shrine.

At the base of the obsidian stone and the newly placed golden-banded rock, Qvasir knelt, his movements deliberate. From the fur wrapped tightly against his side, he withdrew his offering: a small bundle of woven pine needles bound with sinew, within which nestled a polished fragment of bird's skull. The ivory was carved with meticulous care (as much as a wolf could do), its surface etched markings of teeth and a triangular pattern.

He placed it carefully among the other offerings, the scent of pine mingling faintly with the cool air as the totem settled. His cold gaze lingered on the shrine, his voice low and firm as he spoke, directed at no one yet meant for all.

A cycle unbroken, he murmured, the weight of his words hanging in the still air. The spirits will see this, and they will remember.