Neverwinter Forest Moon, a hole of light

when the sun peaked just above the horizon, sólhárr woke. his bride to be, elska, lay beside him with her breaths rising and falling against his body. in the den he had dug for them, the largest he had at the root of the rock formation, made sure to find the softest moss for them to lay upon. sleep did not evade him with @Callyope beside him.

with a lick of his tongue, he'd brush the white furs from her nape backward, ridding her of her bed-head look. there was so much fur upon her, a kindred appearance to his own dense hairs. they'd survive the winters with east, he was sure of it.

songbird, he'd coo, wishing to show her things today, though she looked peaceful when she slept.

the sleep was deep, yet the dreams stirred with a vividness she could not deny. the voice of a mother that came in like cool winter air.

"i must find for myself that you run with strange ones in a place they were not invited."

an exhale in her sleep, a soft flutter of eyelids. even in her dream she knew that this had been done in a way that was not tradition. but she was held while she slept and the scent of the space around them was uniquely theirs.

comforted.

the voice of a husband-to-be. his soothing touches roused her and begged sleep to wash from her vision. she blinked slowly, reaching out with a long limb for him.

already? a tired hum. uncertain if she was ready to face the day so soon!

sólhárr let a gentle hum escape him, a low, soothing sound that blended with the quiet of dawn. he pressed his muzzle softly along her shoulder, continuing the gentle rhythm of his grooming as she stirred, half-awake and still nestled in the warmth of their shared space.

já, he murmured in answer to her tired question, the old word rolling from his tongue like a soft promise, filling the morning air between them. her touch found him, and he leaned into it, steady and grounding, content to stay a while longer in the tender silence that was uniquely theirs.

when the quiet had settled, sólhárr’s voice softened, curious yet thoughtful. tell me, he began, his breath warm against her fur, what are your marriage traditions? his eyes held a flicker of interest, as though eager to weave her customs into the life they were building together. how would you have it done?

it mattered to him to know, to honor the ways that shaped her, even as they created something of their own in this land.

she shifted against him.

his words carried a weight and it was that alone that offered her eyes the ability to open a bit more. to look up at his face clearly.

i have already broke many traditions, she knew this and she did not wish to hide it from him. a matchmaker might collect names. i asked my mother to collect them. yet now... her voice trailed off and her eyes grew full of warmth for him. she was here, not with any name that had been gathered.

he should know these things. he should see the tangles that she had made before she had become unraveled with him.

each of us might have lived among our villages together, for a time.

him in moonglow. her...wherever he had been before, maybe.

clearly that might not work here with something so fresh, being built by his roughened palms.

but the bride price is important. to me, to my mother and father. she would not see that one tarnished by her infatuations. what is asked for is a reflection of my worth and your devotion.

was he nervous to be faced with them in moonglow? did he fret over what they might ask? she had faith in him, but she had no way to tell his thinkings on what the price may be.

still, she dared to think she might like to marry him proper in the thickest snow of the winter season.

sólhárr hummed, a low sound that resonated in his chest as he took in her words. his teeth flashed in a brief, amused snarl at the thought of her being matched to another, as if to say he’d sooner chase off any such fool than let them have her.

they may have gathered names, he murmured, his tone warm but firm, but none would be as foolish as to think they’d have a chance now. his gaze softened as he looked at her, catching the warmth in her eyes, a warmth that settled his own spirit.

moonwoman, he continued, a glint of curiosity in his eye, what does she favor in a hunt? if i am to present a bride price worthy of you, i want it to reflect her own tastes. he paused, considering, then added, and if she’s in need of any new pelts, perhaps...we make braid them.

sólhárr’s expression grew thoughtful, the weight of tradition settling around him with a respect he rarely offered. he knew well the value in honoring her family and her customs, and if it was winter snow she desired for their union, he’d meet her at the heart of it, unyielding as the land itself.

we marry before your season. he murmured, a promise tucked in his tone. we’ll seal it in snow and ice, as lasting as forneskja itself.

she is all yap im so sorry

she will tell you the bride price when we sit among moonglow for a meal.

she kissed him for his generosity, though.

it will be good to come with gifts. it will show that forneskja respects moonglow, that it means only peace to the village. she thought of the glacier, of the mountain that laid along it. yet he had already settled here among the forest.

gather your hunters, we bring down a boar. she instructed him now, but it was still with warmth she spoke. i will make the fur with the skills i have been taught. we will dry the meat and i will save the tusks. these things will be gifts of village bonding.

revitalized! when she spoke of these things to him, it did not feel like she had broke so many traditions. especially not when he spoke her heart.

sealed in snow and ice.

make it so.

a challenge she knew he would meet. reluctantly she was unfurling herself from his side, keen to go out into the world. to walk it all with him.

i'm obsessed

sólhárr listened intently, his heart swelling with every word she spoke, feeling the authority and grace of a seiðkona rising within her voice—a role she held naturally, as if forneskja had been waiting all along for her to take her place at its heart. her strength was magnetic, and he found himself utterly smitten by the confidence with which she instructed him, like a queen directing her realm. this was always meant to be hers, he thought, filled with pride.

when she leaned in and kissed him, sólhárr’s heart hammered, and his smile softened, almost boyish in its shyness. then it will be so, he murmured, the quiet vow between them. yet, a thought tugged at him, one rooted deep in his homeland’s traditions. almost sheepishly, he looked to her, a glimmer of hopeful mischief in his eye.

will you make me a pelt? he asked, his tone gentle yet edged with anticipation. where i am from, the bride wears the pelt of her clan’s home—something to honor the life she’s leaving, while stepping into her new one. he paused, then added, but you… you’re both. you’re moonglow and forneskja.

he could feel her energy sparking like a warm flame, a source of inspiration that urged him to action. with a newfound vigor, he nodded to her commands, ready to bring down a boar, to gather the gifts that would solidify their bond with moonglow.

then i’ll see it done, he promised, the challenge settling in his bones, ready to meet it. a gift worthy of both villages, and for the woman who binds them together.

"will you make me a pelt?"

there was a growing smile upon her face. she would have done such anyway if they were to wed! there place might soon fill with pelts as their hunting carried on. the fox fur from her mother would be her own cloak.

his declaration of her as both places.

soon she would be only forneskja. moonglow would always be in her blood, her spirit, but it would not be the title she said first. her heart, grieving among its bloom. a difficult thing to grapple with! to feel dread and to feel adoration all at once.

i will make you a pelt. she told him now. and it will be taught to others here too. i must have a woman's circle. would he deny her this? she did not think so if she spoke it so certain.

her children will learn all she knew, too, but this she did not say. for fear that it might somehow lay a curse upon her womb or upon their time together when it came.

i will bind forneskja to many, many villages. moonglow is but only the first moon village.

she motioned for him to come with her, out of their shared space and into the forest.

his heart swelled with quiet pride as he listened to her, taking in her words with an intensity that went beyond mere affection. he saw in her the essence of both worlds—moonglow and forneskja—woven together in a way that spoke of a strength and wisdom only she could bring to his home. 

he felt the gravity of her vision, the legacy she was intent on creating, and he was determined to see it through.

any wish you have, elska, it will be granted, he murmured, voice firm with quiet reverence. a place untouched by men, sacred for you and the women of forneskja. he felt the weight of his words as a promise, a commitment not just to her, but to what she would bring to this land. he would create a place in the forest, somewhere untouched, where her teachings and spirit would flourish, a sanctuary meant only for those who followed her path. women of your choosing.

as she motioned him to follow, sólhárr stepped beside her, moving through the forest with a renewed sense of purpose. forneskja will bind to moonglow, and to any other village you wish, kona mín. you are bridge between these worlds, and i will see you have everything you need to make it so.

he glanced at her, his gaze softened by pride and respect, already imagining the circle she would create—the future generations who would carry her teachings. together, we’ll see forneskja become what it was meant to be.

sólhárr can take her to the space for spirituality after your next! we can do it all in this thread;)

perfect <33

and her wish was that!

a place, untouched by men where the future women of forneskja would gather. where disputes might be settled or changes might come to council. a place where tradition would take deeper roots. both her own and those that would be made.

at once she thought of all the ways they might make further connections.

many might know her through the presence of moonglow. she thought of the royals in the hot lands far from here. she thought of those who had come to visit from beyond the mountains. the saltwater wolves, too. so many possibilities!

they would need to gather many scouts, she realized!

she could have dizzied herself thinking about all of the affairs that needed to be organized. now and in the future.

hárkonungr, she called him now. a distraction from her whirling thoughts! teach me your words too. these things will also be passed down and i must hold them as you do. she knew it would be so, but it was another wish spoke into existence!

hárkonungr led her deeper into the heart of forneskja’s woods, his steps deliberate as he brought her to the place he had envisioned for her and the future women of their land. as they walked, the trees grew taller and more ancient, and soon a canopy of wisteria revealed itself, draping above them like a floral tapestry. its blooms, still vibrant despite the season’s change, cast a soft, ethereal light on the space below—a sanctuary untouched by any but them.

here, he murmured, gesturing toward the sturdy tree at the center of the clearing, its roots winding deep into the earth, this is heimtré, our home tree. it will stand as witness to your gatherings, a place for your circle.

but he, himself, would not break the barrier of wisteria. he would not step foot inside. 

his gaze lingered on her as she took it in, his chest swelling with pride at her vision, her purpose. he knew she was already thinking of what traditions would take root here, of how she might weave moonglow’s teachings with those of forneskja, creating something lasting.

seiðkona, he teased, a glint of warmth and mischief in his eyes. he leaned close, brushing a kiss against her cheek. then tell me, elska, what words do you wish to know? his voice softened, carrying both reverence and a playful edge. i’ll teach you all our words if you desire… starting with the ones that are for you alone.

as he watched her, sólhárr knew that whatever future lay before them, it would be one they built together, word by word, root by root.

this was no fire mother.

or three sisters.

it was good that it was not! otherwise she might have cried over things she could not speak. she might still cry, hidden in the circle of heimtré. she might bury a bone here to lay it all to rest.

only when she was ready, would she.

instead she only gazed upon it with love and fondness. for the land, for the man. it would have been all too easy to never utter another word again for the day. to lose herself in the winding ways of a women's ways. a place where none could reach her.

brought back to earth by his voice, by warmth.

she reached for him with gentle teeth, seeking to lightly pull upon a rugged tuft. kajuk! sly and sharp. she liked this and could not begrudge his burning desire! she'd rather that, she figured, than a stonewall.

all of them! all! she declared with brilliance. first you must teach me the greetings we will use. then common questions and their easy answers. always planning now, always lining up the things for a future secured. she could have no easy moments if this was to take root!

sólhárr chuckled as her teeth found a rugged tuft of his fur, the playful nip stirring his own instincts as he leaned in to return the gesture, a gentle nip along her neck. he felt a warmth settle in his chest at the brightness in her eyes, the determination to root herself in forneskja so completely. his elska was already binding herself to their land and its language, one phrase at a time.

all of them? he echoed, amusement coloring his tone as he met her enthusiasm with a willing heart. “then let’s start with greetings, as you asked.” he softened, leaning close so his voice dropped to a warm murmur, the kind reserved for the quiet moments they shared. heilsa—it’s a simple greeting, one you use with kin and strangers. and if you’d like to add warmth to it, you’d say heilsa, félagi, or even heilsa, vinr for a friend.

he paused, smiling at her eagerness, feeling a satisfaction he couldn’t put to words. but, he added, his tone teasing as he brushed his muzzle to hers, i only teach you more if you share something in return. a greeting in your own tongue.

he watched her with keen interest, his eyes gleaming with pride and affection. she was securing roots in forneskja, yet bringing moonglow’s spirit with her—and in this exchange, he could feel the bond between their worlds growing, one word at a time.

heilsa.

titles for warmth, but already she thought of ways she might cleave languages together. would it be a disrespect to her blood and to his? she did not know, but things felt easier when he asked to learn in return.

there are different ways. pride in this, in the way sunshine had grown and bloomed. in the way she shared it now among a man interested in her roots as much as he was in his own. you might say 'it is good to see your face' or perhaps atekai to say come in, welcome.

a smile now, warm and encouraging for his tongue to try her words.

sólhárr turned the word over on his tongue, atekai, letting the syllables settle as if tasting the roots of her language. atekai, he repeated softly, savoring the way it rolled from his mouth, as though welcoming a part of her world into his own. he met her gaze, a flicker of warmth in his eyes, knowing that these words bridged more than just languages.

and here, he said, a glimmer of pride lining his voice, we say hverfugr. it means one who brings warmth, light. his gaze softened, lingering on her with a tenderness that broke through his usual guarded strength. forneskja calls the morning sun hverfugr. like you. a light on the horizon.

he paused, watching her reaction as he repeated the phrase, slower, inviting her to take it for herself. he wanted her to know the way his language shaped her presence in his world, just as hers had shaped his understanding of welcome.

hverfugr.

her cheeks hot, how fitting. her. she might have whisked the title for herself if she did not already hold one.

a light on the horizon. did he know how much he filled her heart? how she had longed to hear such sweet words? perhaps these words came from a tongue she did not know, words she was still learning, but it did not matter to her.

their differences bonded them.

their differences made them whole when together.

isakutâk, she told him now. drew herself close to him. sunbeam. into his arms was her goal now. to be held while they spoke their own words among one another.

the gentle heat of her cheeks mirrored by the soft glow of her words. isakutâk. sunbeam. his lips curved into a rare, unguarded smile, the golden light of her presence softening the edges of his stoicism.

isakutâk, he repeated in her tongue, his accent thick but his tone reverent. how fitting for you, he added, his voice low, the words spoken just for her.

when she climbed into his arms, he let her, his movements easy and instinctive as he drew her close. her weight against him felt right, as if they were two pieces of the same story, finding their place together. he brushed his nose lightly against her temple, a quiet gesture of affection.

a new word for you, then, he murmured, his voice gentle. hjartsláttur, the word lingered between them, soft and filled with meaning. it means ‘heartbeat.’

with his expression unguarded, because that is what you are to me.

he tilted his head slightly, catching her gaze with his own. say it for me? he asked, his tone playful, though there was a flicker of vulnerability in his golden eyes, a man who, despite all his strength, found himself disarmed in her presence.

oh!

she was to be wed to such a smooth man. briefly she thought of the royal man from the akashingo palace. the one who had bought such fine things for his wife and spread his wealth among those who helped him. he had been so gilded with his words that she had nearly been blinded by it!

now here was a man, all her own, who spoke so smoothly.

she blossomed in his vulnerability. all too keen to show her own in return.

hjartsláttur, voice still a whisper. a flutter of her voice as if it dared to tremble!

maybe this is what i will call you.

her eyes, searching his face, looking for acceptance. looking for admiration. looking, looking!

hárkonungr relished in her innocence. the moon daughter would be his, if not already— she is— and wed before the altars of urðhalla, basking in her light before the greats. they will be revered, sought after, worshipped.

his nose pushed against her temple, planting a kiss with his tongue against her soft, white furs. a warm breath fanned from his mouth, a low sound in the back of his throat as she uttered the word from her perfect lips.

call me anything, he breathed. deeply he inhaled her scent, seeking to swallow her whole. call me hárkonungr, sólhárr, hjartsláttur.

he let their eyes connect— sparks, a shooting star, himinráfn heard their calls. blessed by his moongirl, draped against his side. happy is what he was. admired her for her youth, cloaked by the wrath of seiðkona that he knew she was.

stripped bare, vulnerable. he too, could be himself.

so long as you call me, elska. i will be happy.