Firefly Glen it can change you

he watched her—not with hunger, not with intent. but with the solemnity of a man who had been watched his entire life and never learned how to look back gently.

yet he tried. for her, he tried.

forneskja, he said slowly, as if the name itself held weight even he still bore across his shoulders. the name means old bone. the marrow of the mountain. a people carved from winter and stone.

his gaze drifted toward the trees, the ones that had once guarded his kin like silent sentries. now, they whispered secrets—secrets he no longer trusted. the wind here had changed.

we were once lake-bound. now we walk to the quarry. to begin again.

his voice never rose above the hush of the forest. but every word struck with certainty.

my wolves follow strength. tradition. the old ways. not the gods, not always—but the blood that remembers. we tie to the nuiruk, the sacred. we bury our dead with stone. we do not forget.