Moonstone Quarry Every bird, gone unheard

AW but maybe @Fleur ?

the stoneborne king knelt in silence, the morning wind brushing against the thick red strands of his coat. at his paws lay the catch—three rabbits and a fox, their blood dark against the frost-hardened earth. the work was meticulous. slow. solharr’s jaws worked steadily, peeling back the thin layer of fur with the practiced rhythm of a man who had done this a thousand times.

it was not the blood that marked the morning, but the quiet. no howling wind, no murmured council, no watchful gaze upon him. only the scrape of tooth against sinew, the occasional tug of claw to lift the pelt free from flesh.

each hide would serve a purpose—offered to the altar, gifted to the young, or worn in honor of those long buried beneath the stone. he did not waste. he did not forget.

nearby, the quarry loomed like a sleeping god. behind him, the wind curled and whispered.

he did not look up. he listened.

Fleur had woken early, snuggled under the elk fur Solharr had gifted her. The gesture had meant more than she had let on and she hoped to one day return in kind. In truth, she may owe him so much more than he, and even she herself, would ever realize. 

The mornings had always called her to rise early, and despite her reluctance to emerge from her resting place, she rose to follow the sun.

She soon found him, his name a song that which left her lips on a whisper, carried by the winds that led her here.  

"Solharr." 

his ears twitched first, catching the sound of her voice on the wind. quiet as it was, he heard her. solharr turned his head, the cool light of morning catching in the pale of his eye.

you rise with the sun, he rumbled, a trace of surprise in the low timbre of his voice. the quarry was still cloaked in silver mist, and most of forneskja still slept. but not her.

a flick of his paw sent the cleaned marmot toward her across the stone. early enough to eat with me, then, he said, faintly amused.

his gaze lingered a moment—measuring, unreadable—but not unkind. the wind stirred her fur, and for just a breath, he did not speak.

"Mm," Fleur hummed, "I quite enjoy this time. It's the calm before the chaos of the day, is it not?" 

She padded closer, sleep still clinging to her steps. Her gaze stayed on his as she caught the sliding carcass. Happy to oblige him, she laid herself down before tearing into the carcass between her paws. Her attention left him as she glanced to the carnage on display.

"A mighty hunter, I see. The destroyer of rabbits and slayer of foxes. A man of many trades." Her teasing smile flashed between them. "Very impressive." 

She eyed him for a moment, chewing thoughtfully. "I may have risen with the sun, but it appears you have been awake longer."

solharr watched her come, quiet, as always. she brought warmth with her, a kind that did not burn but softened. his eye followed her steps until they folded beside the small carcass. her voice came easy, like mist over stone.

seems so, was all he said at first, a low breath, low enough it could have been mistaken for wind through pine.

he nudged the marmot closer. a kill not for glory, but for need. he had made many like it lately. game enough to feed, to tan, to think.

i don’t sleep much these days, he offered finally, a gruff admittance. he kept his gaze on the treeline. quiet helps me think.

and he did think. too much, perhaps. of things that might not ever return. of a white shape in the dark. of steps that had once echoed near his own and now did not. he thought of her.

callyope.

the name was not said. it pulsed silently in his ribs like an ache that had long since settled into the marrow. a part of him still thought she might come back—walk through the mist like a ghost not ready to fade.

She understood, truly, she did. The quiet made space for thoughts, for fears, for wants, for what ifs. But, it never spoke back, and sometimes that was needed more than time alone.

“Well, should you want to voice these thoughts…you know, to quiet your mind even if for a little while, there are ears happy to listen.” Head titled and with sun-kissed ears forward, she would listen. 

Solharr was a man with so much burden on his shoulders while also grieving a love lost. If she could do one thing, it would be this—she would give him a place to lay it all out.

No judgement nor scrutiny. No—she offered openness. Safety.

solharr’s gaze did not lift at first, but he heard her—soft, kind as ever. that voice that reminded him of thawed things. once frozen, now flowing.

it is unnatural, he said quietly, tone thoughtful rather than bitter. for a norseman to be so smitten with his woman.

his eyes found hers, blue and tired with memory. but i have changed.

a silence followed—not heavy, but full. he seemed to search for something in the snow between them, as if he might find what was lost buried in the frost. instead, he offered her something else.

i do not speak often. but if you are patient... maybe i will.

and then, almost shyly, he nudged the pelt toward her once more. this one is yours. take it before the foxes do.

“Love endures and love changes. it shapes who we are—I do not find it unnatural at all.” A paw outstretched to touch his, a comfort she dared.

“I haven’t known what you have, or at the very least can’t remember if I have, and I find myself both grateful and wanting.” A sigh in the silence that followed.

It was troubling, not being able to call on her memories. 

She met his single gaze, her eyes traveling over his handsome face, thoughtful. Weighted. “What is unnatural to me is patience, that I have always known, yet I find myself wanting to slow down and enjoy what is before me.”

She looked off to the Quarry, but her thoughts remained tethered on the man before her.

His quiet offer returned her eyes to his, a meeting of souls who have lost much, yet still carry on. She reached for the marmot pelt, her paw gently tracing its softness. She did not look at him as she spoke.

Her voice matched his own shyness. “I…enjoy hearing your voice.” She clutched the pelt to her chest, as if it were a shield that would protect a heart that rattled in its cage.

solharr did not move for a moment—not when she touched him, not when her voice softened with that honest weight he had come to recognize. it was not flattery. not from her.

his breath lingered on the cold air, slow, deep.

you’re the only one i’ve spoken to this much, he said, finally, voice low and rumbling like distant thunder. there was no shame in it, only truth. i used to speak with callyope. after her… there was no one worth the words.

he glanced at her, steady, the blue-gold of his eye reflecting the quiet firelight of early day.

but you are, he added simply. not as compliment, but fact. there was something about her—talkative as she was, she never demanded, only gave. gave warmth, gave presence, gave softness without making him feel less for having it.

his gaze dropped briefly to the marmot fur she clutched, and something inside him—something long buried in ice and silence—thawed, only slightly. but enough to notice.

keep it, he said, quieter. it suits you.

then, after a pause, his ears flicked once.

i… like your voice, too. it was as close to a confession as a man like him could offer. raw and unpolished, but no less true.

His words affected her greatly. 

It showed in the way her eyes rippled with an emotion she couldn't quite place--not yet. In the way she couldn't look away from him. It showed in her cheeks, as if blooming roses kissed them. It showed in the way her lips curled softly, in the way her chest rose and fell, as if the wind itself was the only reason she still breathed.

"Solharr, I..." Voice wavering, words failed her. How...ironic. Almost poetic. For someone who could talk so much, yet in this moment, couldn't form the words. The words she wanted to say to him stayed trapped next to that bottle she kept in her heart.

Head shaking, she laughed softly to herself. "I am indeed in trouble." Her face turned upwards, meeting the sky with eyes closed as she listened for a moment. It caressed her, fur swaying ever so gently, guiding her to return to him again. To try once more.

The dam broke and she spilled forth before him.

"You have given me so much, maybe much more than you might realize. A home. I'd also like to think a...friend. In you, Solharr." Her smile met her eyes then. "I have been floating for so long, lost at sea. Lost in so many ways." A pause. A breath. Her words rang genuine, echoing her thoughts of him when they first met. "But there you were--a lighthouse through the mist. Guiding me home, to this place. I just...wanted to say thank you. From the bottom of my heart."

Left unsaid were the words she wished to speak, but as the winds blew a little harder, it was a reminder that patience was needed here. She would soon visit the altar when it is ready, to gift her token, and have a rather long chat.

She finally stood, a nod to him, the pelt now adorning her neck. "Thank you for this morning. And, Solharr? Find me whenever your thoughts seem too heavy to bear alone. If they are of her, if they are of your duties, or if all you need is presence in the quiet--it is all the same to me."

Fleur turned then, her tail waving gently as her form retreated, fading into the mist.

Exit. I blame Callum Scott's "Lighthouse" for this dramatic post.

he said nothing at first. how could he?

there was a softness to her words that left an ache in his chest—an ache he hadn’t let himself feel in moons. not since callyope. and yet, in the quiet that hung after fleur’s voice, solharr felt no guilt. no betrayal. only the strange, foreign pull of warmth where frost had long reigned.

his eye lingered on her even as she turned, her silhouette swallowed by the mist that danced like spirits across the quarry.

a long breath left him.

you are no longer lost, he murmured, more to the stone, the wind, the gods above—to her—than himself.

then, lower, so quiet it might have been mistaken for the whisper of the breeze:

and neither am i.

he watched the spot she had vanished into for a long while, before turning back to the task at hand. but his thoughts were no longer heavy. not now. not with her voice still echoing gently in his mind.