Moonstone Quarry Every bird, gone unheard

solharr’s gaze did not lift at first, but he heard her—soft, kind as ever. that voice that reminded him of thawed things. once frozen, now flowing.

it is unnatural, he said quietly, tone thoughtful rather than bitter. for a norseman to be so smitten with his woman.

his eyes found hers, blue and tired with memory. but i have changed.

a silence followed—not heavy, but full. he seemed to search for something in the snow between them, as if he might find what was lost buried in the frost. instead, he offered her something else.

i do not speak often. but if you are patient... maybe i will.

and then, almost shyly, he nudged the pelt toward her once more. this one is yours. take it before the foxes do.