Moonstone Quarry The bear that keeps to his own line

“Callyope, a beautiful name.” She murmured, her eyes never leaving the antler. She let him speak, to allow what he freely gave her its moment to settle over them both.

Only when he cracked what seemed to be a joke did her eyes jerk to his in surprise.

“I do not!” Her jaw dropped in feigned shock, yet her eyes betrayed her joy. He wasn’t wrong, she could talk for hours on end if given the chance. 

But, in these moments, alone with the Hárkonungr, she found herself only wanting to hear him, to listen as her words were stolen on the very winds that called to her, the same that always seemed to dance when softness met stone.

“Careful, Solharr. Make too many jokes and the stone you are built of might crack with each one.” 

Her eyes squinted, features exaggerated as she searched him. “Oh, look—I see one starting!” She pointed to his chest, the same spot she touched not long ago.

Though, she did wonder what lay beneath that hard exterior.

Callyope, I fear I might be in trouble. The wind might have picked up in answer, or she might have just imagined it.