Moonstone Quarry The world that hardens as the harsher winter holds

AW but maybe @Aneira

the scent of earth and pine filled his nostrils as he paused to mark the territory line, lifting his leg to leave his scent in the snow. his amber eyes scanned the perimeter, every crack in the earth, every rustle in the branches, his senses alert for any sign of trespass.

he adjusted the oxen hide strapped across his back, its weight a familiar comfort. the rough leather was a constant reminder of his duty, of the strength he carried, of the pack he had sworn to protect. the hide, thick and worn, was more than just armor—it was part of him now, a testament to the years of struggle and survival.

Days had passed in solitude, the wilderness stretching endless and indifferent beneath the frostmaidens quiet contemplation. The choice had not been made lightly, nor in haste, but as the winds shifted, so too did her path. And so, in time, she found herself on the threshold of the quarry.
Aneira did not call her presence forth with words, nor did she move as an intruder might. Her approach was the whisper of snowfall on stone, silent, certain, until the space between them was measured only by a breath. The scent of him filled her lungs then, earth and pine, the lingering trace of leather and toil. Her gaze, sharp as hoarfrost, traced the land before her; the jagged edges, their quiet, enduring strength.
„The quarry,” she murmured at last, breaking the silence between them, „I wished to see it for myself.” The words carried no decision, only intention. Was this a stronghold or a graveyard? A place to build or one already fated to ruin? She did not yet know, but she had come. A flicker of unease brushed against her thoughts, fragile, fleeting, until her gaze settled on the flameborn. Solharr, standing as he had before, the oxen hide a mantle of labor and legacy, the weight of it speaking of burdens carried and battles fought.
„You told me of endurance,” she continued, her voice quieter now, considering, edged with something almost warm, „Show me what it is you endure.”

solharr’s gaze remained steady on the horizon, the wind biting at his fur. his single eye glinted faintly as he heard her approach, but he didn’t shift until she spoke, straightening just slightly in acknowledgment.

you’ve come, his voice was low, almost like a quiet confirmation. the quarry. it endures. he glanced at the expanse of stone before them, the quiet strength of it meeting his gaze. he shifted the oxen hide on his back, the leather creaking with the motion. it’s not a graveyard. it’s what we make of it.

he paused, words thoughtful, heavy with the burden of his role.

it isn’t just surviving, he said quietly. it’s knowing you can carry the weight, no matter how heavy it is.

Aneira stood for a breath in silence, allowing the wind to speak in her place. It tangles through her fur, carried the scent of stone and pine, of him. Her turquoise gaze did not leave the jagged terrain before them, but something in her posture, subtle and veiled, softened at the sound of his voice.
„Even stone can fracture if asked to bear too much,” she murmured, voice as frost threading through still air. Her attention turned to him then, lingering on the hide as it covered the scars on his shoulder. A question plagued her mind, unspoken;
„This place…” she began once more, slower now, testing each word for truth, drawing near his side, her eyes tracing the terrain, „I would see more of it. Not just the stone; but what lives within it, what breathes here.” It would not be enough to see only plain stone. She wished to glimpse the rhythm of their days; the way they moved through the land, how they wove the old ways into each breath and gesture, how reverence lingered not only in ritual, but in the quiet moments in between.
„Show me the marrow of your endurance, Solharr,” the faintest curl of challenge in her voice, soft and real; her gaze settled on his flame form once more. „Let me decide if it’s something I could bear beside you.” There was no commitment in her tone, but curiosity, tempted by caution of course, yet honest; a flicker of flame beneath her snowbound shell.

solharr moved ahead, his steps purposeful as he guided her through the rugged terrain. the scent of pine and earth filled the air, mingling with the cold breeze that swept across the quarry. his fur, dark and strong, seemed to blend with the stone beneath him as he navigated the harsh landscape.

this place does not yield easily, he spoke, his voice low but clear. but it stands, as do we. his amber eye scanned the horizon, reflecting the quiet strength of the land. we do not seek peace, not in the way others might. we fight for what is ours, endure what comes, and stand firm when everything else crumbles.

he glanced at her then, noticing the soft curiosity in her gaze. if you wish to understand, you must see how we live, how we move. we are not like others. this place, these mountains—they shape us, and we shape them in return.

Aneira followed in silence, her paws threading carefully through the uneven stone. The wind whispered between the peaks, tugging at the edges of her fur like a reminder of the cold she had long since learned to carry. His voice echoed against the rockface, firm as the stone itself.
The frostmaiden let her gaze drift across the jagged cliffs, the marrow-deep silence of the quarry settling into her bones. When she finally spoke, it was with the quiet weight of someone who chose words the way others chose weapons: „I do not fear the unyielding,” her voice was low but clear, „I have lived where nothing bends. Where the wind forgets your name, and the land takes more than it gives.” she then turned her attention back to Solharr, „But you already know.” The trace of warmth in her voice dissipated as quickly as it came.
She drew closer to the edge, turquoise gaze catching the light like fractured ice. A breathtaking sight; one that stirred echoes of the valley where the Grove once thrived, cradled in memory and mist. Her gaze lingered on the landscape when she began once more: „You endure, all of you. That much I see. But I would know more,” A pause, „Not through words. Through what you do when no one watches.”
Then, a faint flicker, almost a smile but fleeting. „Show me how the mountain lives in you.”

lone amber eye shifted toward her as she spoke, his expression unreadable. the jagged cliffs and the sharp wind seemed to respond to the weight of her words, but solharr didn’t flinch. he had long since learned not to be swayed by what others feared or thought. the land had shaped him, molded him into something steadfast, like the stone beneath their paws.

he let the silence hang for a moment, as if the mountain itself were listening. when he finally spoke, his voice was calm, edged with the quiet strength of someone who had lived through hardship. the mountain does not bend, he repeated, his gaze drifting over the landscape before settling on her once again. it endures because it has no choice but to. the same could be said for us.

he shifted, his single eye focusing on the way her gaze traced the land, noting the faint flicker of recognition, of understanding. his own gaze returned to the valley before them, the place that had both shaped him and tested him.

you want to know what lies beneath, solharr said, his voice low, almost contemplative. not in words, but in actions. in what we do when no one watches. he took a step forward, leading the way with his head held high, his stride purposeful. follow me, and you will see. the mountain lives in every step we take, every decision we make.

The frostmaiden watched him for a breath longer, the steady rise and fall of the land reflected in her eyes, unmoved, unshaken. She did not speak at once; words, as steps upon snow, had to be chosen with care lest they break through thin ice. „I’ve seen what lies beneath,” she said softly, though there was a weight to her tone that wind could not carry away, „Stone breaks, too; given time, given enough pressure.”
Her gaze followed the path ahead, then returned to him, not with defiance, but caution honed by a life carved in places the sun had long forgotten. „But I’ve followed before, trusted before. And still-” A pause, brief, yet telling, „Here I stand.”
A beat passed. The silence grew taut, then she exhaled, long and even, like a slow thaw, „If the mountain lives,” she murmured, stepping forward to match his pace, „then let it speak.”

solharr chuckles softly, a glint of something ancient in his eye. you speak in riddles, just like my wife did. his words are light, but there's an edge to them as he turns his attention forward. stone breaks, yes, he mutters, but not all stone shatters the same way.

he glances back at her, his gaze steady. you've followed before, trusted before, and still you stand, he notes quietly. that's what matters.

his pace quickens slightly, leading her forward.

Aneira walked beside him, her steps quiet against the stone. The chill in the air no longer bit as sharply; perhaps it was the warmth in his voice, or the way he spoke of someone long gone, that dulled the wind's edge. Her ear twitched at the mention of his wife; subtle, but not without notice. A silence followed, not uncomfortable, but pensive, as if she weighed whether the question was hers to ask.
Then, softly, „You speak of her in past tense,” her gaze lingered on the path ahead, but her tone had shifted; less guarded, touched by something unspoken. 
„Was she… like you?” she asked, a note of genuine interest threading the words, „Strong, still, beneath the weight, enduring.” The frostmaiden didn’t press further. If he chose to answer, he would. But in her voice, there was no demand; only quiet respect, and the trace of something gentler than before.

solharr walked in silence for a time, letting the wind whistle through the hollows between stone. his breath was low, steady. the kind of breath that bore weight.

she is the past, he said, at last. not a mournful thing. not bitter, either. simply truth, shaped by the years. gone with the wind.

his pace did not falter, though his eye, the one that remained, was far away. somewhere lost in the shape of her memory.

no. the word came on a low breath. she was everything i was not.

a pause. the air tightened, but he did not withhold.

kind. emotional.

his ear flicked as if to dismiss some lingering ghost. but there was no heat behind it. only the weary respect of a man who had known something once and lost it in the old way—quietly, without fanfare.

i was the storm. she was the still water.

and then silence again, but it was not empty. he walked beside aneira like the sea beside a glacier—two ancient things that knew how to bear witness without noise.

Aneira walked quietly at his side, her tuquoise gaze on the path ahead, though it was clear she was listening. For a long while, she said nothing, letting his words settle like snow on stone. She knew better than to fill silence meant to hold memory.
When she finally spoke, her voice was low; measured, thoughtful. „Still waters run deep,” she began, not as a correction but as a recognition. „And storms... they carve valleys. Not all destruction is cruel.” Even if he believed her words to be riddles, they carried clarity in her own eyes. To her, destruction was not chaos, it was transformation. Sometimes, only through ruin could something stronger rise. And he embodied that truth well; a leader forged in pressure, a mountain unwavering in the storm, the kind one could cling to when all else gave way.
Her eyes shifted toward him briefly, soft with understanding. „You must have balanced each other well.” The frostmaiden was quiet for a beat longer, then added, more gently, „It’s no small thing… to speak of those who shaped us.” Then she turned forward again, wind catching in her fur.

solharr walked in silence beside her, the wind threading through the hollows of the trees and combing the fur along his shoulders. her words—gentle, but with weight—did not wash over him. they settled. slow, like the falling of ash.

we did, he said simply.

his eye, carved from winter sky, did not turn toward her, but there was something softer in the line of his brow. in the pause between one breath and the next.

she burned warm. and bright. a small exhale. i… endure.

his stride did not falter, but the rhythm of it slowed, as if his body remembered something his mind had buried.

the moon rises, he murmured then, almost to himself. even when it cannot be seen.

a pause.

i will remember her like that.

and then nothing more—for now. the quiet between them was not hollow. it was reverent.

The silence settled once more like snowfall; soft, but thick with meaning. His words lingered in her ears long after they were spoken, quiet truths laid bare in a voice that did not beg for pity, only remembrance. She did not look at him. Instead, her gaze remained forward, fixed on the path where light filtered dimly through the trees. But inside, something shifted.
How strange it was, to feel a flicker of warmth in a story that was not hers. Stranger still, to feel the ache of something familiar, though she would never name it. Bright, and warm; her thoughts turned to things she rarely allowed herself to feel; those brief moments in younger days, when someone’s presence had made her feel less like ice and more like water. Before the cracking, before the frost.
The frostmaiden said nothing at first. She didn’t trust her voice; not with feelings she had never spoken aloud, not even to herself. But after a beat, she offered something quieter than a whisper, something fragile but sincere. „Then you are not alone in remembering her.” It was the closest she could come to comfort, and more than she had given anyone in years.
Aneira’s gaze dropped briefly to the earth below her paws, the dirt and snow mingling like past and present. Her breath caught on something unspoken, and she let it go with a soft exhale; „Enduring…” she echoed, almost to herself. „It’s a cold thing. But you… you have warmth enough to carry her still.”
She didn’t look to see if he heard. Some things were meant to be given, not acknowledged. Instead, she pressed forward through the hush of the woods, carrying with her a silence that no longer felt so sharp.

his ears tilt back slightly, grimace pulling at the corner of his mouth as he dips his head.

aye, he murmurs. the word is low, like gravel stirred beneath frost—rough, but not unkind.

her absence had carved something hollow in him. still did. and though he spoke of her now without weeping, the wound had not closed. it simply wore a thicker skin.

he doesn't answer her at first. doesn't need to. the silence between them holds what words cannot. grief was a language of its own—one they both, in different ways, seemed to know.

his gaze rests ahead, then drifts briefly to her—just long enough to catch her words.

thank you, comes after a long pause. quiet. sincere.

did you come just to enjoy the view...?

Aneira huffed softly through her nose, not quite a scoff; more the breath of someone weighing the ground beneath their feet. Her steps were measured as always, precise and deliberate, as though the earth might betray her if she let it carry her too freely. She didn’t slow, but her ears tipped slightly in his direction, betraying her attention.
Her gaze remained on the horizon, though the corner of her mouth twitched; barely. The ghost of a smile, gone as quick as it came. „The view groans and broods. I thought I’d seen worse,” she began, tone dry as frost-rimed stone, „but then it started talking.”
She stepped over a gnarled root, light on her paws, shoulders drawing back with quiet composure. There was grace in her movement, but not the kind born of peace, more like someone long practiced at staying whole in broken places. A beat passed. Wind stirred through the stonewalls, ruffling the longer fur along her back. Her voice, when it came again, had lost some of its barbed edge:
„Still…” she murmured, more to the boulders ahead than to him, „There’s something to it. The kind of view that doesn’t flinch when the world cracks.” At last, she turned her head; not fully, just enough that her pale turquoise eyes found him. They held a glint of quiet humor, but something steadier too, as glacier water: clear, cold, and deep enough to drown.
„Guess I stayed for that.” She faced forward once more, her tail flicking low behind her. There was no softness in her silhouette, but something had shifted. Her steps remained sure, her silence now companionable, like a song remembered without needing to be sung.
The frostmaiden walked on, letting the stillness return; not empty, not awkward. Just full of all the things that didn’t need to be said.

solharr's single eye lingered on her profile, sharp against the jagged skyline. her words drifted through the cold like mist, stirring something he couldn't quite name. a smile threatened the edge of his scarred mouth—wry, worn, but real.

he grunted low, a sound of recognition more than amusement. this means you're joining us, then?

not a question, not really. more a quiet confirmation of what he'd already begun to believe. her steps were quiet, her silences telling. and in them, he heard what words refused to say.

fade in your next? I love them sm <3

Aneira’s pace did not shift, but the flick of an ear betrayed that she had heard. The sky was pale ahead, veiled in the hush before snowfall, and she watched it as though it might answer for her. When at last she spoke, it was with the kind of steadiness that made wind pause to listen.
„Seems you’ve already decided for me,” she murmured, not unkindly. „Or perhaps the road has.” A beat passed, long enough to let meaning settle like frost in the cracks of stone. Then, almost too quiet to catch: „But I wouldn’t have come this far just for the view.”
Her turquoise gaze shifted, not quite meeting his, just near enough to acknowledge him. The closest she’d come to yes. And maybe, from her, it was more than enough. A pause lingered, and then, with something close to curiosity, perhaps even tentative belonging, she added: „Will you show me the dens?”

solharr’s steps slowed just enough to draw beside her, the snow crunching soft beneath wide paws. the smile that touched his face was quiet, small—a thing built of gratitude, worn smooth by time and silence. he looked ahead, then to her, and gave a single nod.

come, he said simply.

he turned, pace sure, leading her up the winding slope where stone met sky. no fanfare, no ceremony—just the sound of wind slipping past, and the warmth of something unspoken between them. when he spoke again, it was low and gravel-edged.

they’re tucked behind the high ridge. out of the wind. strong stone. quiet. a pause. they’ll do.

and still, that small smile lingered. she had come far. and now, he would show her the way forward.

WELCOME <33