Moonstone Quarry The bear that keeps to his own line

AW

amber eyes scanned the terrain, taking in the vast expanse of stone that stretched before him. the quarry was immense, a vast hollow in the earth surrounded by towering rock faces, some sheer, some sloping. it was a place carved by time, ancient and unyielding.

he paced slowly along the rim, his heavy steps echoing in the quiet. the air here was thick with the scent of minerals, a dry, earthy tang that spoke of both hardship and endurance. he could see the potential—the space for the pack to grow, for boundaries to be drawn, for strength to be forged. but the size... it was a daunting thing. would it feel like home? could they defend it against any who might come?

he breathed in deeply, the cool air filling his lungs. the ground beneath him was firm, stable. the stone would serve them well, but it would also test them.

Fleur watched him as he carved a path, observing the Quarry below.

Where was his head at during this moment of stillness? Did he have doubts, worries? Have they drawn into his lungs only to be let go in the chilled air? Were there dreams, hopes, and wants floating around inside that rather reserved mind?

She had many. Too many thoughts, worries, wants, needs bouncing around that she couldn't make heads or tales of, but she knew one thing for sure--this place would do this pack well. It would suit her well.

"Beautiful up here, isn't it?" She did not join him; not yet. With her tail waving gently, she eyed him with curiosity, head cocked and ears listening.

solharr stood at the edge, gaze fixed on the expanse below. the quarry stretched before him, vast and raw, a place of history, a place to be carved anew. the wind swept across the land, biting and sharp, but it wasn’t enough to disturb his quiet contemplation.

his mind, as always, remained a steady river—no rushing torrents, no loud crashes. but there were currents, quiet and relentless. doubts? perhaps, but he didn’t let them settle. he had been born to lead, to take charge, and these quiet moments of stillness were the only times he could let the weight of everything fall away, even if just for a breath.

it is, he replied, his voice low and steady, as the wind tousled his dark fur. this place... it will carry us well.

he turned his head slightly, his amber eye meeting hers. the calmness in his gaze didn’t speak of certainty—it spoke of acceptance. there were no grand dreams, no whispers of unreachable hopes. just the work, the endless work, and the pack that needed him to keep moving forward. and for the first time in a long while, he thought that maybe, just maybe, she could be a part of it.

come, he added with a slight nod, motioning for her to join him. there's much to be done.

Fleur’s head bobbed once before bounding to her feet. Steps light, she reached his side quickly. The wind could reach her more here on the lip of the Quarry, its gentle song now blowing through her fur much like when they first arrived. She had danced then, but these songs were sent to calm, and so her paws stayed planted firmly tethered.

Her own chest rose long and deep as she paused to listen, to inhale. Scents, old and new, barraged her senses, yet she categorized them, familiarized herself with what will be her home. One of many stood out to her—she knew its origin. Like the others, she tucked it away, but she chose a much safer part than her mind this time. Somewhere next to a certain bottle that continued its rage against her ribcage.

Breath no longer able to be held, she let it go, allowing a calm to settle into her completely. “There is, I have no doubt.” 

Eyes opened to give him a sidelong glance as she continued. “How can I help? I may be like a newborn—useless and always hungry,“ she paused as a giggle escaped her, “But I promise to learn quickly.”

i doubt you're as useless as you think, he said, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, his tone warm yet practical. but if you're eager to learn, then come. there’s something that needs attention.

he led her down the rise toward the carcass of a bull elk, its heavy frame lying lifeless on the stone. a few crows circled above, waiting for scraps, but the majority of the work was to be done. the skinning would take time, and he would show her how it was done—how to cut carefully, preserving the hide and meat.

this bull didn't make it through the storm. we take what we can, solharr continued, a little more serious now. cut along the belly here, he gestured, then ran a paw along the elk's side. we don’t waste. his amber eye met hers again. if you're willing, this is how we contribute. how we survive.

as the wind whipped around them, solharr’s stance remained steady, strong, watching her quietly for any signs of hesitation. but he trusted she would adapt, as all wolves of forneskja must.

Was that a hint of a smile she saw or was it the thinner air depriving her of much needed oxygen? She shook her head. So he does have another side of him—one that isn’t entirely made of stone. The knowledge was pocketed away as she followed him.

He showed her the elk, its life taken by nature’s course. She listened carefully to instructions laid out for her and nodded, agreeing to the task silently. 

It was food, a way to sustain, a gift. 

Stopping at its side, her head lowered, eyes closed as she murmured a thankfulness that just felt…right. As if in answer, the winds ruffled her fur, a request to start what needed to be done. Teeth broke skin as she worked the elk’s belly, the edges wild and jagged; blood which had pooled in the carcass’s stillness broke freely from the cuts, slick on stone.

In her workings, she had not kept attention on her footing. One wrong step made and she slipped—face first into the carcass. It was not deep, she had not made much headway thankfully, but it was enough that blood stained her entire face as she came up sputtering.

And laughed. “Well, you can’t tell, but these cheeks? Red.” She paused, turning to face him, exposing herself fully. She attempted to lick what she could off her muzzle, but there was more she couldn’t reach. 

“Hm—does it bring out my eyes?” Her head tossed high as more laughter escaped her.

we love a clumsy girl

<33

solharr chuckled softly, the sound low and unforced, a rare moment of warmth breaking through his stoic demeanor. he watched her, his expression still unreadable, but the glint in his single eye spoke volumes.

you wear it well, he said, his voice dry, but there was something fond in it. he took a step closer, his presence steady, his gaze softening as he observed her attempt to clean herself.

better to stain your face than your pride, he mused, a flicker of humor touching his features. you’ve got the spirit, fleur. i’ll give you that.

he paused, his gaze shifting to the carcass, before meeting her eyes once more, a more serious note seeping back into his tone. focus now. there’s work to be done.

Oh Solharr, you’re a gem <3

“Ah, the stone has humor. It looks good on you, sun man.” The nickname slipped through her lips as easily as breathing. She found herself uncaring that it might sound silly, but it was laced with an honesty and a lightness she felt the moment he stepped through the mist only days ago.

“But, thank you. I told you—quick learner.” A wink followed, tail waving.

She beamed radiantly, a pride in herself despite the embarrassment that dripped from her face, something she would forever be grateful that he cultivated in her. A warrior’s spirit, she thought to herself. A hope she would work towards the more she grew into this place.

It felt different here—she felt different. There was an immense gladness for it.

Her own gaze followed his back to the carcass, the winds blowing along with his words asking her to continue on.

“As you wish.” The words were not mocking, but held the same lightness as before, regardless of the seriousness in the man’s own tone. She would do what was asked of her, of course; it was her duty to him as a member of his pack, but she would do it well and efficiently with a light heart and a glint in her eye, ready to turn even duty into a dance.

a breath stirred in his chest—not quite laughter, but something gentler, more amused. sun man. he turned the words over silently, letting them warm the frost-slick edge of his thoughts. she was bold, in the way of springlight breaking through mist.

he did not stop her brightness. did not quell it with stone or silence. instead, he met her gaze with something level, steady, and behind it—pride. not loud, not indulgent, but honest. she had come far already, and he had seen it.

hm. a simple sound, approving.

when she answered with her lightness, he dipped his head slightly, acknowledging the spirit she carried without needing to name it.

we take antlers as token.

”Oh?” 

Her tail wagged as she eyed the adornments; she wondered what they felt like, sounded like, and what use were they for beyond a trophy? Did the elk use them to pick its teeth? No, there was no way—maybe, it used them to scratch an itch, or maybe birds used them to perch upon? She didn’t know, but was keen to find out.

She left her spot beside the carcass and bounded over to its head. Reaching out with her nose, she gave a gentle sniff, simultaneously eyeing the way they appeared soft and rough at the same time. 

Interesting things, these antlers.

“These look so delicate for something so…big. What will you do with them?”

solharr stood silent a moment, watching as she nosed the fallen crown. the antlers, once carried by something proud and breathing, now stilled in death. he regarded them not as trinkets, not as trophies—but as something sacred.

her question met him gently. she saw wonder. he saw meaning.

they go to the altar, he said quietly, eyes cast over the broad tines. for my wife.

his voice held no tremor. it was firm with the weight of devotion. a tribute to the one who was gone and yet lingered in every flicker of flame, every carving of stone, every bone laid reverently in offering.

She stilled at his words. 

Wife? He had a wife. Of course he did.  

Her features remained schooled, her surprise not as evident on her face as the heart wilting in her chest. Looking up from the elk, she watched him silently for a moment, pondering the first of his words.

“What is this altar you speak of?” Her own voice had softened, purposefully not asking about his wife, unless she wanted her bleeding heart at his paws. In her mind, her naivity run rampant. She clung to this man for his strength, his stability, and her heart felt drawn to him. 

She knew that it was too soon, too fast to fall. He couldn’t even catch her if she did.

Yet, she couldn’t help but trip over the great elk’s hoof with a surprised oop! as she drew nearer. There was still so much she didn’t know, didn’t understand, and she wanted what he would give her. Regardless of her feelings.

solharr's eyes did not lift from the elk's antlers, not at first.

an altar, he said quietly, voice like stone after rain. for her.

he moved then, lifting one of the severed points, weighing it in his paw before setting it down with care. disappearance. a beat. or death. i do not know which.

there was no grief in his voice, not the kind that howled or begged. only the kind that settled in the bones and refused to thaw. he stood for a long moment, as if weighing whether to say more. then, as if to grant her question a fuller answer, he looked to the treeline.

a place of memory, he said at last. for her spirit. if it lingers.

his gaze flicked to her, unreadable. you may see it, when it is done. if you wish. and then, gentler still, she would have liked you.

As she listened, her posture wilted, the truth of the altar’s purpose settling heavily over her. One might assume she’d be happy to learn he was no longer bound to another—but in truth, her heart ached for him.

To have known love only to lose it felt eerily similar to her own loss of memory, but somehow, it seemed worse. Far worse. If she had ever loved before, she couldn’t remember, yet the lost girl within her imagined it must be like losing a piece of one’s soul.

Still, he was fortunate. He could speak of memories. This altar would serve as one—a tether to someone he had loved—and he could remember her. For that, Fleur was truly glad.

As he continued speaking, she found herself smiling at his words.
“I’d love to see it when it’s finished,” she said softly. “I’m sorry for your loss, Solharr. She must have been an incredible woman. Maybe I’ll meet her here if her soul is indeed wandering. The winds… they sing to me in this place. I would hope she would chat with me, I think we would have understood each other.”

It was the tiniest hint of her heart speaking, but it was the truth. She and his wife would have had common ground to stand on: him. 

She had paused as words failed her now, bending to pick up the severed piece he had returned to the earth. She held it gently, turning it over in her hands as if, through the act, she might piece something together.

“She was the Seiðkona, wasn’t she? The one you spoke of? What was her name?”

solharr’s gaze lingered on the bones they’d gathered, rough with time and stained by memory. the antler piece she turned in her paws caught the early light, gleaming like a shard of something holy.

callyope, he said after a moment. the name broke quietly, like old driftwood—simple, softened by salt and grief. she loved to talk.

a faint sound left him then. not a laugh, but a breath that remembered one. his eye narrowed with memory as he glanced toward the wind-scoured path they had walked together. even when there was nothing left to say… she would speak to keep the silence from swallowing us whole.

he paused, ears twitching faintly at the hush of morning. this altar—it’s not just for mourning. it’s for remembering. for keeping her voice somewhere the world can still hear it.

he didn’t speak of the way his chest still tightened at night, or how sometimes he turned toward the door expecting her shape to be there. that wasn’t fleur’s burden to carry.

instead, his gaze dropped to her—quiet, careful. she would have liked you, he murmured. and how much you talk.

a joke? perhaps the first he's been able to crack since her disappearance.

“Callyope, a beautiful name.” She murmured, her eyes never leaving the antler. She let him speak, to allow what he freely gave her its moment to settle over them both.

Only when he cracked what seemed to be a joke did her eyes jerk to his in surprise.

“I do not!” Her jaw dropped in feigned shock, yet her eyes betrayed her joy. He wasn’t wrong, she could talk for hours on end if given the chance. 

But, in these moments, alone with the Hárkonungr, she found herself only wanting to hear him, to listen as her words were stolen on the very winds that called to her, the same that always seemed to dance when softness met stone.

“Careful, Solharr. Make too many jokes and the stone you are built of might crack with each one.” 

Her eyes squinted, features exaggerated as she searched him. “Oh, look—I see one starting!” She pointed to his chest, the same spot she touched not long ago.

Though, she did wonder what lay beneath that hard exterior.

Callyope, I fear I might be in trouble. The wind might have picked up in answer, or she might have just imagined it.

solharr turned his head with a slow drag of breath through his nose, eye lingering on her as though she were a question the gods had not yet answered. her voice—teasing and warm—filled the morning hush like sunlight spilling over stone, softening even the frost-bitten edge of his silence.

aye, he rumbled, low and dry, the corners of his mouth twitching just slightly. you do.

a joke. again. perhaps. or perhaps just the echo of one. his eye dropped to where her finger hovered, pointing to his chest with all the gravity of a child accusing the sky of stealing the moon.

there? he drawled, glancing down, then back to her with measured calm. you think so?

he stepped forward, towering still, but there was no weight in it—only the ease of a man learning where stone might bend instead of break.

he liked reminiscing.

when the hide was cut, he would offer it to her. throwing it upon her shoulders. and he would cut the antlers from the bull's skull, taking it back for the shrine.

with a nudge of his shoulder against hers, firm but not unkind, the hárkonungr turned back toward the rising quarry. the sun carved light through the stone, and in the hush that followed, the wind moved gently, as if listening.

exit need more of them!

Yes please! <33

She did not shy away from him as he stepped closer, her paw greeting his chest once again. Strong, sturdy. 

“Yes, Sun man. Exactly right there.” Her words were breathless, but not rushed. Her smile was a dainty thing, soft. Easily breakable by others who have come before. But, she held no fear. Not here, not of him. 

As they gathered to leave, she shifted the shawl of elk hide tighter on her shoulders, clutching the piece of antler she had refused to leave behind. Some day she hoped to sit beside the altar, alone, to make her own offering. 

 A vow made and a blessing begged of the one who walked before.