Moonstone Quarry dragonspine

no dreams, he said at last, voice like gravel wet with snowmelt. it carried low, but true.

solharr stepped closer, the sound of his weight pressing into stone not unlike distant thunder, softened by time. the wind curled past them both—cold fingers raking through his cheeks, tousling hers. she was haloed in mist and dawnlight, and for a moment, she reminded him of things he could no longer name.

sleep comes... rarely now. he tilted his head, slow, a motion heavy with thought. his single eye held her pale one without flinching. less since we left the forest.

not an accusation. not regret. just fact.

the quarry had changed him. sharpened him. scraped at the quiet places inside his chest, until only the barest edges of warmth remained to be kindled. she must have seen that too—how still he sat when the others danced. how often he watched the sky, as though it owed him something.

but the stone holds memory, he said finally, nodding once to the pools at her feet. it remembers the weight of us. it does not forget. and it does not lie.

a pause. his voice dipped lower.
i don’t mind being awake when you are.