Moonstone Quarry after the snow

aw :)

the stone knew him.
it did not sing, nor cry, nor bow— only stood as it always had, towering and patient, the teeth of forneskja’s quarry biting into the grey spring sky. but it knew him, and he knew it. each step solharr took across the ravine's mouth was firm and steady, as though his absence had never hollowed the place, as though the earth had only slept until he returned.
mud clung to the thick hair at his ankles, still wet from the rivers he had crossed. his broad back was marred by new scabs, sacred ones, rites etched by bark and bone and blood. the fur along his nape was darker now, saturated by the smoke of cedar and juniper, the breath of the gods he’d walked beside. teeth had not taken him. neither had madness. only silence, and the long gaze of things older than men.
he had gone far to be blessed by his missing wife’s spirit. to beg, if he must, that she guide what remained of their legacy.