Moonstone Quarry The world that hardens as the harsher winter holds

Aneira huffed softly through her nose, not quite a scoff; more the breath of someone weighing the ground beneath their feet. Her steps were measured as always, precise and deliberate, as though the earth might betray her if she let it carry her too freely. She didn’t slow, but her ears tipped slightly in his direction, betraying her attention.
Her gaze remained on the horizon, though the corner of her mouth twitched; barely. The ghost of a smile, gone as quick as it came. „The view groans and broods. I thought I’d seen worse,” she began, tone dry as frost-rimed stone, „but then it started talking.”
She stepped over a gnarled root, light on her paws, shoulders drawing back with quiet composure. There was grace in her movement, but not the kind born of peace, more like someone long practiced at staying whole in broken places. A beat passed. Wind stirred through the stonewalls, ruffling the longer fur along her back. Her voice, when it came again, had lost some of its barbed edge:
„Still…” she murmured, more to the boulders ahead than to him, „There’s something to it. The kind of view that doesn’t flinch when the world cracks.” At last, she turned her head; not fully, just enough that her pale turquoise eyes found him. They held a glint of quiet humor, but something steadier too, as glacier water: clear, cold, and deep enough to drown.
„Guess I stayed for that.” She faced forward once more, her tail flicking low behind her. There was no softness in her silhouette, but something had shifted. Her steps remained sure, her silence now companionable, like a song remembered without needing to be sung.
The frostmaiden walked on, letting the stillness return; not empty, not awkward. Just full of all the things that didn’t need to be said.