Moonstone Quarry Every bird, gone unheard

solharr did not move for a moment—not when she touched him, not when her voice softened with that honest weight he had come to recognize. it was not flattery. not from her.

his breath lingered on the cold air, slow, deep.

you’re the only one i’ve spoken to this much, he said, finally, voice low and rumbling like distant thunder. there was no shame in it, only truth. i used to speak with callyope. after her… there was no one worth the words.

he glanced at her, steady, the blue-gold of his eye reflecting the quiet firelight of early day.

but you are, he added simply. not as compliment, but fact. there was something about her—talkative as she was, she never demanded, only gave. gave warmth, gave presence, gave softness without making him feel less for having it.

his gaze dropped briefly to the marmot fur she clutched, and something inside him—something long buried in ice and silence—thawed, only slightly. but enough to notice.

keep it, he said, quieter. it suits you.

then, after a pause, his ears flicked once.

i… like your voice, too. it was as close to a confession as a man like him could offer. raw and unpolished, but no less true.