Moonstone Quarry Every bird, gone unheard

his ears twitched first, catching the sound of her voice on the wind. quiet as it was, he heard her. solharr turned his head, the cool light of morning catching in the pale of his eye.

you rise with the sun, he rumbled, a trace of surprise in the low timbre of his voice. the quarry was still cloaked in silver mist, and most of forneskja still slept. but not her.

a flick of his paw sent the cleaned marmot toward her across the stone. early enough to eat with me, then, he said, faintly amused.

his gaze lingered a moment—measuring, unreadable—but not unkind. the wind stirred her fur, and for just a breath, he did not speak.