Moonstone Quarry after the snow

She continued her silent watch as he bestowed gifts to each member who had remained, those who stood in the Quarry in his absence. His words, filled with humbled apology and a request for forgiveness, echoed. Her heart threatened to cease its heavy beating as he looked to her, his words constricting her breath.

When he bowed to them all, she began her descent. His humility was something to admire, but it is not what she wanted to see. Not from him. Not from the one who stood at the epicenter that is Forneskja, the weight-bearing pillar of this pack. No—when she finally reached him, she dipped her head down to his, words soft. 

Rise, Solharr. Show them what I know to be true; you are our Hárkonungr. And when you are done here, come to me. There are things that must be said. She took a step back from him, warring emotions in the windows to her soul; he would see them, she had no doubt, and he would hear them. Soon.

Her eyes fell from his down to the caribou pelt he had laid as a gift to her. It smelled of him, of fire and stone, and, if things had been different, she would have been quite giddy to receive it. There would have been a dance as soon as she placed it on her shoulders—but her anger, her hurt, had won this time and there was no dance to be found as she settled it over herself. There was only a look shared between woman and man, the wind gentle as it swirled to mingle with breath. After what seemed close to an eternity, she nodded to him before turning to make her leave.

Her gaze drifted over the others, a smile offered to each one, one of a shared pain in what had been the loss of their leader, now returned. Forgiveness seemed a simple thing, but she had felt the tension as she passed, and it would not be so. But, it will come—she believed that. For herself, for the pack, and for Solharr.

It will come.