Moonstone Quarry The bear that keeps to his own line

solharr stood silent a moment, watching as she nosed the fallen crown. the antlers, once carried by something proud and breathing, now stilled in death. he regarded them not as trinkets, not as trophies—but as something sacred.

her question met him gently. she saw wonder. he saw meaning.

they go to the altar, he said quietly, eyes cast over the broad tines. for my wife.

his voice held no tremor. it was firm with the weight of devotion. a tribute to the one who was gone and yet lingered in every flicker of flame, every carving of stone, every bone laid reverently in offering.