Moonstone Quarry The bear that keeps to his own line

solharr's eyes did not lift from the elk's antlers, not at first.

an altar, he said quietly, voice like stone after rain. for her.

he moved then, lifting one of the severed points, weighing it in his paw before setting it down with care. disappearance. a beat. or death. i do not know which.

there was no grief in his voice, not the kind that howled or begged. only the kind that settled in the bones and refused to thaw. he stood for a long moment, as if weighing whether to say more. then, as if to grant her question a fuller answer, he looked to the treeline.

a place of memory, he said at last. for her spirit. if it lingers.

his gaze flicked to her, unreadable. you may see it, when it is done. if you wish. and then, gentler still, she would have liked you.