Ouroboros Spine To all things housed in her silence

solharr breathed slow through his nose, the air cold and heavy as iron. he followed kukutux without question, though each step felt like dragging the weight of his own chest behind him. when they sat, he stared past her shoulder for a long while, like the answer might carve itself from the distant trees.

i do not know what to do, he said at last, voice rough—like stone ground to powder.

his ears flicked back, jaw set. she’s gone. left in the night. no word. no warning. he swallowed, thick and slow. she carries my children. our future.

his eyes, pale and storm-wracked, moved to kukutux now.

i don’t know if i failed her… or if she was never mine to keep. the words tasted bitter, like frostbitten roots.

he was a northman. raised by cold wind and harder men. he knew how to take a blade. how to break bone. how to lead.

but this—this silence where his woman should be, this absence—he did not know.

we build, we bleed, we sacrifice— his voice cracked, just for a moment. —and still, the gods take what we love.

his gaze burned now, not angry, but aching.

tell me, moon-mother… what is a chieftain to do when there’s nothing left to protect?