Stone Circle Grace, just hold me in your arms

The boy had spent the night out under the stars, just on the edge of the circle of stones. Skandein they were called, the Seer Stones. It was here that the boy daydreamed, and in the night, he sat and watched the stars. He found no comfort trespassing within the circle of the stones- it seemed to hallowed, and it was where he dreamt that things...Lived. Moved. Watched. His dreams of the stone circle became more and more frequent. He thought by going there at night to watch the sky that this might pass, but at night, he found his mind far too busy with thought. Buzzing, almost. He could lay in his spot, next to one of the stone, and simply stare out and up for hours, when it was dark out. 

Above him, faint gusts of cloud passed like fish swimming below the surface of water. They obscured his view of the stars, rippling faintly. It took him some time to realize that the clouds he watched were not clouds at all; no gust of wind would be that temperamental at such a high altitude. The moved and swirled this way and that, and became denser and brighter every now and again. From one horizon to the other, to the North, a faint semi-circle of grey appeared, like a rainbow of what appeared to be clouds. 

It was the Northern Lights, but he didn't know the name for them. 

Nor did he know what they were. And while they weren't brilliantly colourful, the grey whisps of light  intensified to the point where they were almost a green, faint and pale the same as the colour of his eyes. He was mesmerized by the sight of them, and looked around to see if anyone else was around, and watching the same thing as him. Perhaps it was another vision, but he was certain he felt the cold ground beneath him, and that he was awake. He nibbled on one of his forelimbs to check, and he felt the tugging of his teeth against his skin. He was, indeed, awake- and very much conscious. 

He wanted to call for his mother and ask her what he was seeing...And he wanted for her to see them too. The promise of finding her, after he'd had his seizure...Had fallen flat. The boy had been assured quietly that the others would look, and that she couldn't be too far away. As if frightened that he, too, might be whisked away without any warning, he stayed quite close to the Sjandein, feeling almost safer there than he had back at the den he used to live in when he had been very small. Here was where his mother had told them that they would live now; but why had she said that to them, only to leave them? 

The boar.

The vision of it still lingered in his mind. It was a peaceful thing, even though it was an ugly creature. For whatever reason, he wanted to go after it, find it, see what it wanted. He felt comforted when it came to him in dreams, though he never seemed to be able to get any closer to it. It was always out of reach and when he tried to run toward it, he felt himself weighed down by so much weight, or held back by a tangle of vines. Something was not letting him get to the white boar, every single time. And every time he was held back, he felt his body stiff and immobile, while his mind roamed, awake. It happened, usually, just before he woke up. 

In the hazy lights above, he searched for its shape, hoping that it might appear, though he knew he would never be able to reach it from the ground. He longed for it the same way he longed to see his mother again- and then, he understood the boar's significance. White like bone, the lights above shifted and tangled, and he thought he saw the curve of the boar's tusk amongst them- but as always, it faded away, disappearing far into the darkness that lived between the stars. 

Beginning to realize that he'd entered a period of mourning, the boy lowered his gaze, and stared at the dark stone beside him. It was here, cold and firm. Not a mother's shoulder to lean against, and pull warmth from. But this was where she'd brought him, and where he remembered her the most. The lights above in the sky began to fade, and the faint hiss that he thought he'd heard on the air disappeared with it. Still the stars blinked and twinkled above him, but the dancing, shifting lights were gone-

just like the white boar.

"...and the lady knew she could not abandon the little one the way the rest of the world had...

so she called that little one, bjarna. and she took that little one and said, i will love you forever. you will be safe with me. you will never be alone again."

mother bear

---

the last time they spoke, there had been a story. a truth brought to light and promises of love. of safety. of never going through what she had been born into. mother bear had saved her and given her a full life. a life of siblings and family. a life of a home with bustling bodies. she had never been hungry again after meeting her mother. she never had anymore cold nights or fussy times.

now bjarna had busy days. dotting upon her brothers and collecting strays around the stones. she brought home those in need. those who had also been left behind to be alone, without a family. she made trades with those nearby too. connections so that kvarsheim may never go without.

so that her brothers may never go without.

and it was here, in the cold of the night, that she realized one of those brothers was missing. skáld was nowhere nearby. dagur laid in a lazy sprawl, shoving paws into her as he slumbered. snoring like a beast. unbothered by much of anything it seemed. yet she did wonder how he felt in these uncertain times.

regardless, skáld was the one who lived in the forefront of her mind this hour.

which meant she planned to go find where her softer sibling decided to sleep — or what kept him busy so late into the night.

she had missed the show in the sky that might have captivated her too.

but she did not miss the stars. nor the way he sat under them, looking rather...distant. perhaps he had fallen asleep stargazing. then she worried that another grand dream might take over him and she would not be able to live with herself if she was not there to comfort him.

little star, she called to him softly. not wishing to disturb him if he was asleep, if anybody else was around.

The sound of Bjarna's voice caused his ears to perk. Now that the dancing, shifting lights were gone, he felt a bit colder, and he knew he could rely on his sister for warmth. He chuffed, and pattered his front feet on the ground in anticipation and in open welcoming. "Sister," He greeted, keen to press his shoulder into hers so that the both of them could keep warm. 

"I was just watching the stars, and saw the sky dance," He said. "It's stopped now but...It was very beautiful when it was going."

she offered the thicket of fur she carried to him. she wondered for a moment if being different was not so terrible perhaps. that the way her fur bunched and thickened was made for sharing warmth with her littler siblings.

how did it dance? i have not seen it before!

she encouraged him to share with a gentle prodding towards the base of his neck.

Her touch made him shudder, and the sudden impulse made him tense and then sneeze. He giggled lightly, afterwards, apologetic. The sneeze had been begging to happen for a second or two, but seemed prompted by the way he'd leaned toward her touch. 

"I'll show you!" He said happily. The boy stood up and shook his pelt, though the curly fur of his hocks held onto the snow. He padded into the middle of the stone circle, casting a look from one stone to the next. They were solemn, a quiet, expecting audience. He looked to the sky, and side-stepped. This way and that way he swayed, at times turning in a circle, mimicking the movements of the lights he'd seen and leaving behind a complex pattern of pawprints in the snow.

she watched him, delighted to see him come to life. to see him healthy enough to move and dance. part of her wished to dance among the stones with him, but she knew she did not hold that grace.

she let him have his moment among the stones.

you would be a good sögumaður when the time comes, little star! she softly flopped onto her side. wondering if he might continue his dance or if he might join her.

have you given thought? what things you like to do?

A storyteller? He hadn’t considered it, but while the world spun for a moment in the wake of his movements he considered it. Perhaps he could have stories to tell. His dreams were wild and spirited; they were lives he lived every night, in different skins. He had many tales to tell. 

”I could, yes!” he chimed. He removed himself from the circle, as though stepping down from a stage. ”I like nature. I would like to know plants,”

then maybe you are meant to be markvörður! or maybe...

she sought to pull him close to her in an endearing hug, so that she might smother him with her love! yet she would not force it if he did not wish to be held.

maybe you are meant to be all. to learn and dream everything you can.

"Everything?" He questioned, giggling into her soft fur. He was more than willing to be hugged, and leaned into her embrace, nosing his muzzle deep into her soft, wooly fur. More and more, he became surprised at how small she felt, though. She'd never been a huge wolf, but she seemed smaller and smaller every time they hugged. He was unaware, of course, that with every hug, he grew.

"I think I will be Markvörður," He said. "It will be easier than having to be everything!"

he did not wish for everything! was such a good thing? perhaps. maybe he would never have to wander the way it seemed some did.

wanderlust had never taken her. not yet, at least.

i agree. she laughed softly. warm as the corner of her eyes crinkled softly. will you let me help you be markvörður, little star?