Moonstone Quarry The world that hardens as the harsher winter holds

Aneira followed in silence, her paws threading carefully through the uneven stone. The wind whispered between the peaks, tugging at the edges of her fur like a reminder of the cold she had long since learned to carry. His voice echoed against the rockface, firm as the stone itself.
The frostmaiden let her gaze drift across the jagged cliffs, the marrow-deep silence of the quarry settling into her bones. When she finally spoke, it was with the quiet weight of someone who chose words the way others chose weapons: „I do not fear the unyielding,” her voice was low but clear, „I have lived where nothing bends. Where the wind forgets your name, and the land takes more than it gives.” she then turned her attention back to Solharr, „But you already know.” The trace of warmth in her voice dissipated as quickly as it came.
She drew closer to the edge, turquoise gaze catching the light like fractured ice. A breathtaking sight; one that stirred echoes of the valley where the Grove once thrived, cradled in memory and mist. Her gaze lingered on the landscape when she began once more: „You endure, all of you. That much I see. But I would know more,” A pause, „Not through words. Through what you do when no one watches.”
Then, a faint flicker, almost a smile but fleeting. „Show me how the mountain lives in you.”