Chimera Fields i was listening to the ocean

@Luhtar muah muah

there is snow-crunch beneath her feet, and her nose trails ursa major’s back. night swaths her like a babe, the moon glinting off the pristine white reflecting her coat silver. her periwinkle eyes do not leave the distant twinkle and flutter of stars, an ethereal dance that plays out across her irises. the stars scatter before her eyes, distant and lonely as she feels upon a snow-bound night.

grandmother had told her to follow the bear star at her starfall day, and the star had led her many different ways since. but never quite with others. it has been too long since she existed in companionship. the walls of the spire had crushed her, and now many months removed from them, she missed their touch. the scramble of students through their halls, the distant murmur of a lecturing professor, the giggling of pups as she passed them by in the halls. but she had been already far too old when her day had come, and she was driven out with little more than a farewell.

frea paused beneath the light of the moon, eyes still tracing the distant bear star. her pads ached from the cold, having long gone numb, but she almost didn’t mind it. a gentle wind brushed snowflakes through the dark of her coat like a dozen small galaxies existed in her fur alone. but she didn’t look back at them. she stared at the distant, alien lights, and watched the bear star climb across the sky, her cub at her heels.

his steps are loud in the brittle cold as he moves, muscles shifting beneath his thick pelt. the frost clings to his coat in dull patches, and he exhales a warm cloud into the freezing night. a distant shape halts his pace—a shadow painted silver by moonlight.

a stranger.

his yellow eyes narrow slightly, appraising. she is still, caught in a spell of stargazing. for a moment, luhtar considers passing by, letting her solitude remain. but it is not his way.

hail, he rumbles, voice rough but neutral, carrying through the night. snow crackles softly beneath his heavy paws as he approaches but leaves a respectful distance between them. he glances at the stars she watches, familiar in their slow climb.

look whispers bear.

frea feels her eyes narrow, eyes fixated on that brighter light marking her star’s nose. glee, not her own, wraps the words she must strain to hear.

look whispers bear in joy.

she looks and has to hold on a gasp. he is like bear given shape, large and heavy-set, and the raven feels the distant flutter of heart-wings in her chest. how she had not heard him approach, she does not know, but his voice rumbles like thunder. liefrdottir is frozen, somewhere between awe and the shared glee with the bear star. her breath visibly hitches, white spooling between her teeth like she exhales starstuff.

many greetings rises the ocean of her voice.

do you enjoy them too? it is enjoyment for those who did not attend the star-scattered halls of starfall, but even frea finds enjoyment in them when not looking for hers.

he is pleasantly surprised by the woman. beneath the cloak of midnight, it is hard to read the tones of her pelt; to see the shifting gradients of auburn and dark red, come together to create a beautiful woman. what he sees now, he wishes to see come daylight.

perhaps he can keep her here until dawn comes, and steals away the stars she dances beneath. luhtar is fixated on the thought, the possibility. he steps forwards, closer, cautious still; it is not his intent to spook her.

but he does not think he scares her. there is the visible essence of awe in her gaze. the effects of the moonlight.

i not look much. he admits, head tilting slightly as he gazes upon her. he treads lightly in a circle around her, as if inviting her to a dance. they pretty.

the bear speaks with the rough-hewn accent of her father’s people. it is familiar in a way that comforts her, enough to tear her gaze fully from the near star. it is the first time since it became visible in her sky that she had looked away from it for another reason beyond bare survival.

bear has led her well. but the star-severance is near when the stars whisper, and she has not been led back to the spire. but, as she slides into step with the dance, she can’t find it within herself to mind.

quite. heat, it floods her cheeks so hot that she feels set alight. the dull embers that mark her coat have never felt so alive. for he is not looking at the stars, but at her and the raven’s head spins to be the center of attention.

are you out so late for a walk, then? or had bear whispered in his dreams, and directed him to her?

her voice pulls him further into her orbit. he marvels at the subtle glow of her coat under the moon’s touch, the rich hues now teasingly visible. he feels a quiet thrum in his chest.

walk, ja. stars just... happened.

she is what happened.

he slows his circling steps, his gaze steady yet soft as he considers her question. maybe stars led me here. it’s half a jest; fate or coincidence—he does not dwell on which it might be.

his tail gives a slow wag as he steps beside her now, standing closer than before. what of you?

”maybe stars lead me here”

she feel’s bear’s laugh, rich, warm, maternal. but frea does not look at her patron star, doesn’t even recognize the warm glow. her eyes are for the bear in front of her, caught in her orbit like a satellite. she stops her wandering in step with his, this dance she does not know the steps to, but will learn if she needs to. his voice breaths sunfire into her veins.

he steps closer, and so does she, bird-boned limbs brushing over the snow. curious, she’d been told of her face. she had inquisitive eyes, the eyes her mother wore, and they turned now to the earthly bear and her halting step.

i follow them. the stars. bear star led me here. led me to you, led me to bear in lupine furs, she still couldn’t quite believe it.

i am called frea leifrsdottir. of the starfall spire, i am starseer, skywatcher, moon-beloved. called by the bear. it is with tremble that she speaks her titles, those accolades she had fought bitterly for. do they matter now? she has no answer.

and you?

her step brings her nearer, and he meets her halfway. their worlds seem so different—and yet similar, like the song of morning—but suddenly intertwined beneath the sky’s vast expanse.

frea, he echoes softly, as he comes closer. now, the only distance between them is the breath they both breath. her name feels a word carved from the stars themselves.

i luhtar. drengr of forneskja. he holds no grand titles, no lineage—just his name and the weight of his people. yet it is enough. his tail gives a slow wag. he leans forwards, if she allows, and presses a greeting nose to her cheek. breathing in her scent.

he enjoys this closeness beneath her stars. who this bear? he asks, drawing breath in. it is star?

her name on his tongue tastes like honey. they drift as if celestial objects, as if they too are stars. the distant spots of light that witness their union feel as if they’re closer to the earth than ever. frea drifts closer as if pulled by a magnet.

luhtar. his breath across her cheek. he smells of the forest, of the mist and the thick scent of man. the bear is against her, and she drags her nose against his cheek with a shaky inhale.

the bear. ursa major. she clears her throat, trying to wrangle herself before she makes a fool of herself in front of him. she points the curve of her narrow nose towards the cluster of stars.

it is there. if you look at it closely, trace these lines, it is a bear. she uses the tip of her nose to sweep down the bear star’s back.

it led me here. to him.

he looks to the star. his head moving as hers does, in a single motion, nose tracing the lines which she has pointed out to him.

he had never noticed.

it is almost enough to steal the air from his lungs. moreso, she is enough.

he must know her... this he realizes. this woman, mysterious, who has come in the night. speaking of the stars, she herself cloaked in their elegance, their pride. luhtar takes a trepid breath before returning a honey gaze to her, the smile upon his maw genuine.

he knows not what possesses him but a masculine urge. you come to my home. he says. with his broken, unlearned dialect, it seems more a command than what it truly is: a request. meet seiðkona. hárkonungr's wife. she lead woman's circle. his breath is baited. he hopes she says yes.

and we watch more stars.

were she anything but who she is, she would have asked what she was doing. would have questioned the sanity behind the split second decisions she’s making. and maybe she’ll wake tomorrow and find that it was a dream, a gossamer thread that seems so easy to snap. frea finds the pit of disappointment she could fall into wide, dark, and yawning.

but he is in front of her, all but demanding she return with him. smiling with a face that does not seem suited for it. she wants to see him smile more. she wants to point the stars out to him, trace their lines so even if he forgets her, he will remember them. she casts one last look to bear.

go, whispers bear. the star-severance. and frea knows this is where the stars have led her. they will lead her no longer. either she follows their guidance, or she turns towards the spire, lies her way back into their ranks, and knows everyone is aware of the falsehoods. or she stays here, where the guidance has led, and where the bear who walks upon the earth looks at her with hope in his eyes.

frea knows her choice before she ever gives it any thought. She turns to press her shoulder to his, craning her head up to look him in his eyes.

i will go with you. to your home. and we will watch more stars. breathless with the yearning, of this moment spun in sugar and a fragile cord of hope. was this what her mother felt? frea cannot imagine what it must have taken for her to return to the spire if so.

but in this moment, she cares not for her mother’s feelings, her father’s name, nothing. it is her, and the bear, and the stars, and the promise of home. and that is all she needs.

short and we can fade here!! ill throw up a starter and tag callyope :3

luhtar watches her. a decision hangs heavy between them. her gaze, steady. her words, soft but sure.

good, he rumbles, voice rough with warmth. he does not need to say more than that.

stars guide. now you trust heart.

it is strength, he thinks. to leave what you know. to walk forward, not looking back.

her shoulder presses to his. he feels the warmth through the chill. steady and strong, he turns, leading her toward home.