Firefly Glen it can change you

the scent came first—salt and rain and something delicate beneath it, like the memory of flowers long drowned. solharr’s steps slowed through the mist as the faint silhouette of the woman took shape ahead, her form curled and still beneath the hush of the early light.

he did not move with force, only quiet purpose. his bulk carried easily through the damp undergrowth, and when he came near enough, he stopped.

not close enough to frighten, not far enough to ignore.

you are alone? his voice was low, shaped by the gravel of his homeland. not unkind, but weighted. a northern chieftain's voice. eyes the color of frozen seafoam studied her—not with judgment, but with recognition.

he had seen this before. the stillness of grief that moved like fog through a soul.