Moonstone Quarry Like blood upon the snow

solhárr’s grip held fast, teeth deep in old hide as the pelt strained between them. rock scraped beneath, a rhythm like drumbeats buried in snow. his stance was low, weight braced against the pull, and across from him, anoana grinned through the leather like a girl playing at war.

he let out a low grunt — not from effort, but something amused, approving. there was strength in her. not loud strength, not the kind that snapped jaws or filled dens with shouting. but the good kind. the kind he respected.

good work, he said around the pelt, muffled but clear. he gave another tug, enough to jostle her, testing for her balance. you pull like a wolf twice your size.

his one good eye watched her tail swaying, the enjoyment in her movement. the work was plain, but there was joy in it, too — joy in shared labor, in the wear of teeth and muscle against purpose. he understood that well.

when this is smooth, he added with a slight growl of effort, it’ll make a fine lining for the denmouth. good against snow.