Stone Circle Heartland

all welcome but maybe @Skáld ? <3

---

Once-quiet Kvarsheim is much altered. The arrival of the maimed boy slips them into a tumultuous pace. From Riverclan comes a twosome, a pair of healers she imagines. She makes herself scarce to watch the comings and goings from her distant plot. In the prattle and weave of new smells, her heart will secretly crave again for empty wilderness.

In the evenings she goes to see the boy, yet only when she thinks he’ll be unattended. Which is not often. The red Riverclan woman plies him with herbs and consorts with Gunnar frequently. The boy’s eyes remain shut, but she’ll listen for the beat of his heart, look for the lift of his chest pulling air. She brings him little gifts from the day: a grouse, a warbler’s egg, a nearly-grown froglet she’s stolen from the moorlands.

Gunnar keeps her fed. The stress of a daily hunt waived allows her to parse out her time on other things. So she decides to dig a den, but first she must find a suitable place to do so.

She ambles along a western-facing slope, testing little nooks of the ground with her paw, and taking a good sniff before moving to the next plot a few yards or so away.

In spite of all the early memories he had of his homelands, he found them changed and unfamiliar upon his return. Snow had melted and leaves had sprouted, crocuses blossoming in the wooded areas and bluebells in the plains.  Despite all the novelties, he found himself revelling in the sight of growing flora. He’d forgotten how much he’d liked plants. He felt as though he’d still been just a toddler when the snow had come. 

Strength came to him more slowly than the spring came to Kvarsheim, though with every meal he felt a little bit more like himself. His sleep improved, which served to brighten his mood, and made him eager to explore the lands he’d once called home, and see how it looked dressed up in Springtime fashion.

The wolf who had greeted him caught his eye, though he felt sheepish still for having merited a stern eye from her. He felt indebted to her, but such a thing weighed on him. His hunting skills were still quite lacking, and he did not have the health to give away anything he did catch. 

But he had found something- 

A piece of quartz. 

Skáld had seen the flicker of light reflecting off the stone’s surface, and had dug it out of the cool earth. There was just a hint of lilac to it, but it was otherwise clear, with little lines like cobwebs threading through it. 

He was not far from where he’d stashed it away when he spotted Tauris, and immediately made a beeline for it so he might present it to her. He felt a bit foolish, approaching her with his belly low and a barely noticeable gap between his lips, but he beseeched her to slow and greet him with a quiet whine, hoping she might have even a moment to spare for him.

If she’d scented his approach, she dismissed it as the heart of Kvarsheim that blew across her face. But it wasn’t until a little whine thrummed along the tradewinds that she’d turned to address her unexpected visitor. It was the younger boy brought in off the moors, bellying before her in timorous proffer, something between his teeth catching the glint of noonday sun.

“Oh,” she breathes, startled at first to see him here. “Hello…” She draws, summoning his name from memory of Gunnar speaking it, “Skáld, right?”

He looks up at her with the biggest sea-green stare, halved in hope and something darker- apprehension? There is an entire language of understanding impassive between them. She cannot reassure him in words, so instead she tries in body, and gently lowers to her own belly until their sight aligns.

Her eyes pass between Skáld and the stone he offers between his teeth. “Um, is this for me?” Her brows fold in question, quieted by the gesture. She’ll tip her face carefully to inspect the gift, nosing it with a damp maw, whiskers grazing, nostrils flaring. It’s such a small, idle thing: a translucent rock with a bit of purled texture. Not particularly colorful, not at all useful. It would have gone unnoticed by any other wolf to have passed it by.

But not Skáld. This was a gem from a boy who’d thought of her when he looked at it. And to Tauris, who’d long since forgotten a world where smaller ordinary things could be great wonders, it was a symbol of just that. He held eternity between his teeth. It was the loveliest stone she’d ever seen, the sweetest gift she’d been given.

For the passing of several heartbeats she said not a word, but her brows fold with emotion. “... It’s beautiful, Skáld. Thank you.”

His pupils seized and clenched under her surprised gaze- he flinched and his joints buckled lightly, instinctively begging for forgiveness. The skepticism she’d shown him- borne out of devotion to the pack- had not been forgotten, but neither had been the kindness of her gestures after he had been identified. It was only when she offered a mirror of his positioning that his trembling ears lifted slightly; hope sprouted. 

The sound of his name was reassuring. He felt a wave of shame, to know that at this age, he was still one who needed to be tended. All the excuses he could have made for his state wouldn’t be comprehended, not unless she spoke his language- and he did not feel it was right for him to make them, anyway. 

There was no real excuse. He’d been lost- an untrained, unskilled boy. An orphan who had guidance, but had still managed to fail. The only of his litter to persist, but he had still fallen short of general pack expectations. 

”Yes.” He knew few words, but she had already earned all of them. Skáld….Ta…Tauris?” He remembered, though his pronunciation might have been a bit tentative. 

She bent toward the stone, and his tail waved in approval, though it hung low still, waggling between his ankles. He searched for any trace of approval, though he did not yet find her face familiar and easy to read. He thought he saw a trace of curiosity, which was encouraging- though he understood that a stone could do no good for a wolf. It did not nurse a wound, or sate an appetite. It was merely a token, pretty and shining, and not necessarily uncommon in their lands…But he could still not shake the feeling that it should belong to her.

Bjarna had given him the gleaming, silverish rib of a deer once. Ot remained where he’d stashed it, albeit slightly grown over with moss. 

”Yes. Yes,” meaning that it was for her. But her thanks merited a frantic shaking of his head. ”No. Thank. Skáld thank. Skáld thank, thank T-Tauris,” He assured her.

It’s softly that she pulls back. His eyes hold rheumy and in wait for every word she might impart, as if at any given moment expecting his world to come crashing down. He gives a subtle wave of tail, but there’s a sullenness following this boy like a shadow.

Where is mom? Where is dad? Who is this Kvarsheim child?

Her mother said once that grief was love with nowhere to go. It was clear to her now in the eyes of a boy with so much love to give, and so alienated from the blissful, ungoverned years of childhood. Her heart aches.

So she wound her ears forward, carefully mouthing the stone to place it proudly on a granite outcropping for display. Then she takes her paw and gives a little scratch at the field.

“Skáld, do you like to dig?” She asks, alternating between strokes of claw and peering at the boy. “Like this- ‘dig’?” Scratch. Scratch.

“Such a precious stone calls for a special place to house it- don’t you think?” She quirks her head, giving her tail a little beat. Earnest eyes searching that thoughtful face for any shade of the child beneath all those layers of grief.

“Sure could use help.”

It pleased him to see the stone placed aloft, where it might catch the light, though it seemed such a open place that any might see it and take it for themself. A raven with an eye for shining things might snatch it- and while it was hers to place as she pleased, he hoped that such a thing might be treasured. 

He could not save his eager expression from faltering when she suggested that they dig. His ears raised hopefully, but fell back when she invited him to dig as well. 

”You want to bury it…” He murmured in a faint whisper, before he realized he had spoken out loud. She might not understand the words he spoke, but he realized quickly that his dismay had trickled into his voice. 

He did not want to disappoint her; the gift was hers to place as she wished. And if that meant burying it…

”Yes, help,” He said, trying not to falter as he staggered a bit closer. He was not well coordinated, and felt so keenly aware of his awkwardness next to her. It seemed as though Tauris was so sure of herself- a decision-maker, who was not troubled with self-esteem. She was someone he could admire, without a doubt, and she had qualities he wished to see in himself, but he felt so very soft in comparison. 

He began to dig, hyper-mindful about how close they were together, doing his best to make sure he did not take her paws with his own as he dug in a manner that was both stiff and gentle. He tried to save himself by mustering up a grimace of concentration, watching her with a glinting side-eye, terrified he might be criticized.

“Oh, Nooo,” she laughs, and shakes her head at Skáld’s misinterpretation, endeared by the way he so quickly starts digging regardless. “I’m making a den here so I have a place to sleep. Um home- heim. Tauris’s heim.” She attempts to translate.

Skáld takes to the task with such a furious focus, what is meant to be a bit of fun play turned rigid mission. She watches his stiff body knead the ground, a grave bearing evinced upon a firmly held brow, and a nervous glance awaiting her judgment.

“Thank you Skáld, you’re quite a good digger.”

She draws her lips into a thin smile for his sake, but cannot bridle an edging sadness. Where is the wilderness in this boy? All of the world was for children who played, but not this boy, who’s joy for digging was lost somewhere along the way.

“Skáld has heim too, yes? Near the Stone Circle?” She asks, fearing the answer.

He knew the word “no,” and when spoken so emphatically, it caused the boy to stop digging completely and sink to the ground- as though to cover up the little bit of scratching he’d done at the earth. He turned his doleful eyes up to her, to see an endearing expression, and eyes full of forgiveness. 

”Oh! He chirped. ”Tauris dig den, yes?” He said, cheering up almost immediately- now that he thought she wasn’t going to bury the quartz. He dipped his head, but his tail wriggled furiously with the compliment. 

She’d asked him about his den, or so he assumed and he frowned slightly, and nodded, shrugging at the same time. He did not exactly have a den- more often than not, he slept in the shelter of the stones. But he was not worried about himself.

”Good den here,” He said, before he stood up and gestured. ”How do I say it…” he murmured. He gestured again, and stepped in another direction. ”Skáld…show Tauris, more, den?” A spot came to mind. This place seemed somewhat spur-of-the-moment, when he felt there might be a nicer place for her to make her home.

A little joy is reawakened. Skáld comes to life. Her breaths hitch, and she melts when he looks up at her, brightening.

Who knew a little smile could hold her in such a sway?

But it does, and suddenly Tauris feels most ardently that this is a thing to be protected, that she would scale mountains, go to battle and fight tooth and nail if it meant seeing that smile again. Her nose twitches and she’s smiling too, a blithe tail ticking.

“Skáld lead, show Tauris!” She barks then angles to clasp the pale stone gingerly in her maw and beckon him forward with a sweep of nose.

Skáld was quick to reflect the eagerness in her posture. The sound of her laughter, only moments ago, rang in his ears like a gentle wind chime still. Like a fern dancing in a gentle breeze, Skáld posture swayed gently with the wave of his tail, which accelerated when he saw hers began to move as well.

With a toss of his head he frisked away like a colt on new legs- only to stagger when he realized that he had some strength to regain, still. But his humour had lifted and with his spirit buoyed by her encouragement he laughed, his voice  a high, sweet whicker.

He knew of a place- an abandoned den he had admired earlier for the way it was surrounded by bluebells. Sunlight filtered down through new leaves, dappling the area with light and shade. He could hear the gentle burble of a stream nearby, too, and in a tree above the den, a robin had built its nest.

It wasn’t too far from where he had found the piece of quartz. 

He kept her in the corner of his eye, sometimes canting his head a bit when he thought he caught the flash of a smile in his direction, as he led her into the wooded area where the birch grew with their tall, pale trunks reaching toward the sky.

Skáld on eager paws and with giddy stead gallops through the upland, the tips of his bounding curls kissed by sunlight. She romps after him, the beat of their paws tolling the fields in tandem.

Soon the open stretch of highlands secede to a lucent forest of bluegreen leaves and milky birch. Her pace behind Skáld falls gently. She raises her head to listen to the wavering trees, the trickle of brook, a pair of robins calling to each other high over the wolves who have parted through their sacred grove. Steps taken here are quiet and careful, and even so the moss and fern keeps the earth soft.

It’s through the tunnel of birch to a little clearing framed in shifting light that Skáld leads her, and a modest cavern dug out from the roots of an ancient tree. She pads into the space, nose investigating, whiskers pursing, turning in tight circles. There’s a soft bedding of grass and it’s here she places her gifted stone. It catches a little ray of diffused warmth that’s streaking into the den mouth. Her brow folds and her chest tightens with wonder.

Could this be home, this peaceful grove? It seemed a little too hallowed, a little too bonny for the likes of Tauris. Was she deserving of this?

She reemerges to pad towards Skáld, noting the brimming fervor in his limbs as he shifts.

“Skáld,” she whispers, “There’s just one problem. You know what this den is missing? A name. Every good den has a name. Seeing as how you’re the one who found it, you’re an equal partner in this. What do you think we should name it?”

His teeth chattered lightly in anticipation as he awaited her response. He hoped she would like it, even though it perhaps needed a bit of renovations, and some added comfort of bedding which had long since been stolen away by other nesting creatures. 

His ears lifted, and his head tilted at the sound of his name as she withdrew from the den. She looked fascinated, he thought, which was a good sign. His lip caught on his teeth as he closed his mouth, tilting his head from side to side as she spoke.

There were only a few words he understood. Problem. Name. Den. You. We. From her tone, he discerned that he was being told something, and then asked a question. He did not understand what it was she wanted, and felt lightly ashamed. Perhaps if he hadn’t gotten lost, he might have learned more English. He missed Ike- he had been a good friend, and a capable teacher as well in spite of his youth. 

”Say…What?” He asked softly, hoping she might simplify. As much as he appreciated that she spoke to him as though he was intellectually capable of understanding, the language barrier proved to be a slight buffer between them.

“Suppose I need to learn Icelandic, huh?” She laughs, pursing her lips as she considers a way to effectively communicate.

An idea sparks and she springs to her paws to trot over to the nearest tree, pushing at the bark with her muzzle.

“Tree,” she denotes, tapping the trunk again, searching Skáld’s face for comprehension. She probably looks like a fool with how enthusiastically she mimes, but she carries on, as if grand sweeping gestures might help him to better understand her meaning. “What’s Icelandic for ‘tree’?”

1000% :D

Icelandic? His ears raised and his tail waved. He’d not expected the change of topic, but it delighted him nonetheless to be asked to teach Tauris his language. 

The first word she asked for was inspired by one of the trees in the area. Without explanation, Skáld laughed merrily, flopping to the ground and rolling over amongst the blue flowers as his giggles fell like the peak of little bells. When he lifted his head, it was dotted with little blue petals. 

His eyes shone as he grinned impishly.

”Tree is ‘tré’” He said, and giggled again. ”Tree, tré. See?” It was how similar the words sounded that had tickled him so much- of all the words for her to ask for, she’d chosen one so simple!

“Tree is… tré.” She’ll conclude with a narrowing of eye over Skáld’s infectious hysterics. “Not pulling my leg- are ya?” She prods at his shoulder with a snaking toe.

“Tréheim.” She ponders. Simple, easy to remember.

She flattens her chest with a paw, “Tauris,” then transfers that paw to his, “Skáld," lastly she dives into the denmouth to pop her head up over the lip and with a bark declare it as,“Tréheim!”

She cants her nose to peer down at the auburn colt, awaiting the verdict of a most particular arbiter.

“Skáld likes Tréheim?”

”Tree- tré- ya! Tree is tré!” He giggled, squirming happily when she gave his shoulder a poke. He sobered up, though his cheeks were warm and sore from smiling still when she announced the den’s name: Treeheim.

His expression turned to mild curiosity when she spoke their names, and then dove into the den with the agility of a weasel. When she poked her head out, she voiced a question- and Skáld puzzled lightly over not what she’d said, but what he thought she was implying. 

She’d asked him if he liked the place- and his answer was an eager nod of his head- though what he wondered was if she was offering to share it. 

He didn’t know the word, though- and he didn’t want to get his hopes up too high. 

So he crouched and crawled forward, like a child begging for a meal he reached up to nudge the corner of her jaw. ”Skáld like,” he said, though truthfully, he was speaking more about Tauris than the den.

A home.  She gives Tréheim another long look, her den for the foreseeable future, tail thumping and chin warmed by the little press of Skáld’s muzzle against it. She brushes the bridge of his nose with a feathery kiss, “Thank you.”

Like a commoner given keys to a stately manor she whirls about, imagining everything she can do with all this space! Perhaps start up an herb garden after her lessons from the Riverclan, or carve a meat cache- oh, to never feel hunger again!

But all this fanciful daydreaming is quickly abandoned with the realization that she is reluctant to part with her companion, and even such a beautiful refuge is made duller by the fact that, when all is said and done, the boy will return to his own lodgings wherever that may be.

“Skáld visit Tréheim? Teach Tauris Icelandic?” There’s a little waver in a voice that always fights to be so strong. 

There’s a look that silently pleads: please don’t leave.

Skáld felt his heart clatter in his chest, watching her whirl, catching the change in the smile on her face as she found delight in the structure of the den. He thought he saw her lips move- reflecting the thoughts that likely raced through her mind, leaving him wondering what it was she was thinking. 

He tilted his head at the word visit. A habit which was adorable, but made his lack of understanding blatantly obvious every time he encountered a word he did not understand. When went on to ask him to teach, and his tail waved. 

If she was asking him to teach her Icelandic, at Tréheim, he thought what the word “visit” might mean. His ears tilted back, falling slightly when he guessed that it meant to come and go- and he was right, though he wouldn’t know it. Instead, he sought verification- choosing instead to wonder if “visit” was another word for

”Stay?”

<33

---

Stay.

She says nothing, because for once she needs not fret over which words they will share. It’s with her body and a low whine she’ll express joy as she encircles him in a dance, stealing little licks and nudges of nose to his curls before falling into play bow and letting her tail banner overhead, lips parted and tongue lolling in a bid for him to join her in play. Stay!

She looks at him; the very lonely boy. Did he know how much she needs him? For she was a very lonely girl.

In the moment she’d begin to feel some deeply important drive, transcending blood and family lines: that she would fight to keep Skáld.

Regardless of space and time.

Yeeeee such pretty babies :)

While he wished there was some way they could communicate freely with words, he knew to watch for cues in the slightest of gestures, and her grand display of acceptance could not be mistaken. 

He kept Bjarna close to his heart, still; Tauris was not a replacement, but with her he could find a place to heal and continue to grow. He would find a way to honour both the women who guided and cared for him with time. 

For now, he would bow to her, and sink against her ashy fur, reeling in the joy of being wanted again.