Moonstone Quarry ^____________________________^

sorry for the delay!

he had come fast to the sound of her voice—drawn not just by duty, but by the sharp pull that lived in his blood now, the tether to her heat, to her scent. it was a call he could not ignore. would not. fleur was his, and when she called, all other things became background noise.
his hulking shape arrived at the ridge above, frost-shadowed and fire-eyed. he did not leap down like a brute. he stepped. controlled. a quiet storm. his blue-gold eye sought her first, and though she was upright, the faintest trace of her nausea was still fresh upon the wind.
a warning howl surged behind his teeth, but he bit it back. there was no threat here—only the scent of a stranger female, younger, foreign, but not aggressive. and not touching his wife.
his gaze finally turned to the black, white, red hued female. a flicker of cool assessment passed over his features. no scorn, no threat—just the calm reserve of a man who was already growing impatient to comfort his queen.
you are welcome in forneskja, he rumbled, i see you've met my wife, i am solharr.
then, to fleur, his entire body softened.
he came to her, pressing his muzzle to the side of her face, anchoring her with scent and breath, murmuring just for her.
you should have waited in the den. you carry fire in your womb now, my love.