Moonstone Quarry dragonspine

her shoulder brushed his, and though he did not flinch nor falter, something rooted deep inside him shifted. like stone cracking unseen beneath the spring melt. he did not smile — solharr was not a man shaped easily into smiles — but his ear tilted subtly toward her voice, an unspoken reply. her steps slowed, and in answer, so did his, adjusting without fanfare, without command. they would walk together, not as warden and charge, not as ghost and grief, but as two carrying the same heavy history, shouldering it across the thawing land.

the mist curled low over the quarry stone, pooling in the divots of long-forgotten paths, and solharr exhaled into it — a breath that seemed to carry a lifetime of winters. he rumbled low, not quite words, but the sound of steady affirmation. a promise made not with speeches or grand gestures, but with the simple fact of his continued, unyielding presence beside her.

he would not leave her to walk these haunted places alone. not now. not ever.