Bramblepoint old wounds

there was something there. something shared in the silence.

endurance is not the same as belonging, he echoed softly, his voice like the cracking of old stone. but it is necessary.

he glanced toward the snow-covered horizon, the land stretching wide and cold.

forneskja is built on endurance. but it will be your choice if you belong.

there was no invitation in his words. no false promise. only truth. unbent, like the harsh landscape around them.

and then, with a nod—one that was almost a challenge, a welcome:

you will find your place here, aneira. if you choose it.

he did not step closer. his presence was enough.

the earth may crumble. but we build.