Ouroboros Spine To all things housed in her silence

the path to moonglow was one sólhárr had walked once with pride—and now again, but with burden knotted in the thick of his chest.

his wife, the moonflower, was gone.

he did not speak of it to others, not openly. not to forneskja.

snow packed to his limbs as he crested the last ridge. the trees thinned, scents changed, and still he said nothing. only once he reached the edge of @Kukutux’s land did the chief call—not with the howl of one who demanded, but with the voice of a man who asked.

a deep-throated summons.

the name held in the frost-touched air. it was not just a call for greeting—it was a call for her. his wife’s mother. the moonwoman. the only one who might understand the ache carved between his ribs.

his breath steamed. his fire-hued coat moved only with the wind. golden eyes did not flicker, only searched the white horizon.

when she came, he would speak. but not before.

his pride held. barely.