Moonstone Quarry Like blood upon the snow

sólhárr lifted his head at the sound of her voice—quiet as snowfall, but sharp enough to part the wind. he had known anoana long enough to recognize the weight behind her calm, the grief stitched beneath her civility like a thread pulled too tight. her tongue was soft, but her eyes spoke of a woman who had endured, and endured well.

he rose from where he crouched over the hide, the pale light tracing the ridge of his scarred brow, one eye meeting hers with a calm that did not reach his mouth. that remained still, grave, but not unkind.

anoana, he greeted, her name thick in his throat like a prayer unsaid too long. he dipped his head—not out of obligation, but respect.

his tail shifted once behind him, slow.

vinna er góð, he replied lowly, glancing to the worn hide stretched beneath his paw. but i find it better when the day brings company.

his gaze lingered a beat longer on her face—searching, not prying.