Moonstone Quarry ^____________________________^

Tiuttuk didn’t like to leave the mount, though she didn’t fear it as she once had. Her steps felt heavy as she crossed the stretch of no-man’s-land between its foot and the neighboring village. This visit was long overdue, she knew, and she didn’t arrive empty-handed. She had woken to find a dead gopher beside her, with no trace of wolf-smell on it, and Pie knew exactly who had left it.

Carrying the small carcass now, she paused at the edge of Moonglow’s territory, yellow eyes shifting over the scenery. She set the gopher at her feet and took a couple of deep breaths as grief swelled in her chest. Even now, it was hard to believe the Moon Woman and Sun Man existed only in memories.

She lifted her muzzle and called out to the village’s new leaders, her voice a soft croon. Pie caught a glimpse of a bird’s silhouette high above, though she barely glanced at it. She dropped her gaze to the ground, though her ears remained alert for any response to her howl.

When none came, a sense of foreboding descended over her. She considered crossing the boundary to check on the wolves in residence, though fear of what she might find made Tiuttuk reconsider. Perhaps they were few, like Moonspear, and preoccupied with things more important than loitering guests.

Biting her lip, she hesitantly retreated, leaving her gift behind. Rather than turn toward home, the restless Treepie decided to see if Forneskja still claimed the forest just beyond the spine. There was no one there, though she cut westward and remembered Cicero mentioning a quarry. Indeed, she detected the scents of a village as she came closer.

A shadow flickered past overhead, drawing Pie’s attention upward. Her eyes followed the familiar hawk as it circled, quirking an eyebrow as it swooped lower and lower. And suddenly, its feathers were brushing the back of her neck as the bird landed on the slope of her spine. Tiuttuk went as still as a statue.

Then, slowly, she turned to peer at the peculiar creature now perched on her back. The hawk trilled, its head ducking toward her right thigh. The Regent sucked air in through her teeth as the bird’s beak hovered precariously near to the itchy, painful lump in her skin. It had been there so long, she mostly ignored it, but she definitely didn’t want anything sharp near it…

It happened so quickly, she didn’t have time to react. The hawk plunged its beak into her skin and pulled out a hunk of it. Tiuttuk choked on a scream as she realized it wasn’t flesh in the hawk’s beak but a fat, wriggling grub. She went a little whale-eyed as the bird leapt off her back then, carrying away the vile thing it had plucked from the yearling’s skin and leaving behind an actual, gaping hole in her thigh.

Fleur had watched a hawk break through the tree line ahead of her, admiring the way it climbed high into the sky, using the wind’s currents to gain altitude. Her head cocked, thoughtfully, wondering if the hawk could hear the god-song better up there. 

What joy to have wings!

There were times where she was envious of the winged-creatures—to dance among the clouds was surely a fantasy, but what a wonder it would be! Though, now that she had become the Seiðkona of Forneskja, and holds the heart of its Hárkonungr, being grounded has never felt so free. 

Head shaking, a smile broke—and then fell as her eyes landed on a wolf. Younger than herself, black-masked face staring at their hind end. Fleur took a few steps closer, peering to see what the other was looking at, but she was too far. 

Instead, she sat on her hind end, tail curling around her and woofed.

Tiuttuk stared at the hole in absolute revulsion. Something about the sight made her itch. But not just skindeep. No, it made her itch down to the marrow of her bones. No, deeper. It made her soul itch. She had been infested.

A quiet boof made her jump, eyes finally tearing away from the hideous wound. A slender woman sat primly a short distance away, her fur a contrasting blend of russet and white. There was curiosity in her fiery gaze and the slight cant of her head.

Swiveling to face the stranger—and put her repulsive thigh out of sight—Pie tentatively returned the woof. She took a few steps toward the other she-wolf, wincing a little at the ache in her violated flesh. Cicero had said there were healers in this place, though she didn’t want anybody near her godawful lesion.

Greetings, she said, coming to a halt a few yards from the fire-kissed female. Had she witnessed that whole debacle? Ignoring that possibility, Treepie queried, This is Forneskja, isn’t it?

Fleur watched the female turn to face her, the wince that accompanied her steps as she drew closer not unnoticed—only unspoken. The Skeiðkona’s eyebrows scrunched up as concern colored her features, a sympathetic click of her tongue the only acknowledgement. She did not enjoy seeing others in pain, stranger or not. 

But, she let it be for now.

Her head dipped in greeting. Well, hello to you, too. This is Forneskja, yes. Why have you come to our borders? There was no heat in her words, only curiosity colored them. She was not one to bite and ask questions later—nor was Solharr, for that matter. He was honorable, yet fiercely protective, and even she would not want to be on the wrong end of his blade. 

But, this young female did not pose a threat—not yet, anyway. Fleur was comfortable fielding this one alone. Though, if she needed to, she could call for her husband, and he would come.

Something about her cheeky wording made Treepie think she’d definitely seen that shitshow. Her cheeks warmed a little, though she continued to pretend like nothing had happened besides a stranger walking up to the border of a claimed territory, a totally normal if not everyday occurence.

I’m your neighbor, she offered, Treepie, from Moonspear. I met one of your members a while back, Cicero. He mentioned that you all were thinking about moving here, Pie replied, gesturing at the quarry at Fleur’s back. What prompted that? she couldn’t help but wonder.

And what kind of topography did the land offer them here? Tiuttuk could see nothing, so she supposed that had a certain appeal. Was it like an inverted mountain, hidden beneath the earth? Was living here like constantly living in a shadowy cave? She had many questions, though she waited for Fleur to field the first.

Nice to meet you, Treepie. 

Fleur nodded at the mention of Cicero. Not long after we moved to the Quarry did some of our members leave—Cicero included. I didn’t have the pleasure of getting to know him.

It was true, they had basically halved their numbers shortly after staking their claim in the Quarry, and it was still lost on her exactly why. Not that she had much interactions with many of those who departed; her focus had been solely on the Hárkonungr—when he was present, and even more so when he was not. 

To actually answer your question, though— she shifted, the only indication the topic was slightly uncomfortable—even if for a selfish reason. The pack had felt there were too many ghosts in the Neverwinter Forest. After the disappearance of the previous Seiðkona, Callyope—Solharr’s wife, may her soul be at rest wherever it may be—they just needed a fresh start. Myself, included.

Suddenly, her memory jogged and she back tracked. Oh—you said you’re from Moonspear! So you must know Tikaani, then? I met her some time ago; we both happened to stumble upon Kukutux of Moonglow. Nice woman. I should visit her soon. The woman had always been so kind.

It didn’t surprise her in the least to hear that Cicero, among anothers, was gone. She should’ve been similarly unsurprised by the given reason for relocating, though Pie met this information with a blink. Why did everyone give up so easily? Was nothing sacred, not even the ground upon which a village was built? Maybe Tiuttuk was the one putting far too much significance on what amounted to dirt.

She didn’t get a chance to say anything about the subject, since Fleur’s next few statements distracted her. The mention of her sister’s name lit up Treepie’s face visibly, only for a shadow to pass over it when Fleur mentioned her grandmother. She might not—must not, given her breezy comment—know about Kukutux’s passing.

Tikaani is both my sister and closest friend, Tiuttuk said with a decisive dip of her chin, and Kukutux was my grandmother. I’m afraid she passed away not too long ago, my grandfather as well. But, yes, Moon Woman was many wonderful things, including a legend in her own right.

Pie gave that a moment to land before clearing her throat and inquiring, Would you care to tell me more about your village here—just anything you wouldn’t mind sharing with a neighbor?

Grief pitted in her stomach at the news of the Moonwoman’s passing, growing a little heavier as Treepie revealed her grandfather had followed suit; the fact that Tikaani and Treepie were siblings had landed but was tucked away . 

A soft oh left her lips, words she wanted to say washed away with a rocky breath. Her head canted, eyes softening, wondering if Kukutux was reunited with Callyope, or at the very least, watching over wherever she might be.

When her composure finally, she had wanted to extend her condolences, but it seemed Treepie was ready to move on, inquiring more about her pack.

Throat clearing, she straightened. Well, from what I understand, the pack had been full of warriors and hunters. Now? We are in the midst of rebuilding, both our bonds to one other and our new life here in the Quarry. 
 
I’m afraid there is not much to tell beyond that, but that will soon change. She shrugged, a laugh escaping her, That’s my hope, anyway. I am glad you are here, though—I’ve yet to meet many other faces, especially those from neighboring packs. 

She bobbed her nose in Treepie’s direction, her eyebrow quirking. If you’d like and have the time, why don’t you come in to see the Quarry for yourself? We do not bite, unless you do first. A wink punctuated her sentence, her smile crinkling her eyes. 

Solharr could join us; I think he would have better answers for you. Her tail wagged as she paused for the woman’s answer.

The pack had originally housed warriors and hunters, which didn’t exactly handshake with Cicero’s description. But Tiuttuk didn’t think twice about it. Packs adapted, changed—they rose and fell—from day to day. It sounded like they hadn’t quite nailed down their identity just yet and were even now in the process of rebuilding it as they settled into the quarry.

I’d like that. I’m very curious about the… layout, Pie admitted, not sure that was the right word to capture what she meant. Is Solharr the leader? she guessed, this being the second time Fleur had mentioned his name. I wouldn’t mind meeting him. I’m Moonspear’s Regent and it could be beneficial for us to strike an alliance… or at least a peace treaty between neighbors.

Another smile bloomed, accompanied by a slight blush of embarrassment on her cheeks. Oh, I’m sorry—yes, Solharr is the leader. We call him Hárkonungr here. I am Forneska’s Skeiðkona, the second leader. He and I are to be wed, soon. Her tail thumped excitedly at the mention of her impending nuptials. 

She rose, tossing her head to beckon the other to follow. Come over our borders, you are welcome here—especially if you’re looking for alliances and peace. I will call for @Solharr, see if he will meet us in the heart. Her muzzle lifted, her howl could be heard echoing through the Quarry, the walls that reached skyward volleying her voice. 

Fleur waited for Treepie to join her.

Not only was he the leader, he was Fleur’s betrothed. And she was the second-in-command here. Treepie felt a laugh bubble in her throat, though she clenched her teeth lest her hostess think she was laughing at her. No, she was just amused that Fleur was living her very own dream, in a sense. Just thinking about why no such thing might ever happen with Alaric quickly sobered her. Pie swallowed what had now become a lump in her throat and flashed the other she-wolf a smile.

Congratulations, the Regent offered, genuinely happy for the pair. She waited for Fleur to lead her into the territory and summon Solharr before adding, Are you two planning a big ceremony?

“Thank you.” She beamed brightly. Soon she would become Fleur Kaldrjarta officially—yet she already considered herself as such with or without ceremony after giving herself to him fully.

The Regent’s question of ceremony hit her squarely where amnesia blocked out her past, only to bounce off the barrier and hit her straight in the heart. It was a sore subject, not one she wanted to think about, if she were to be honest. 

But, she couldn’t be rude, so she shook her head with a tilted grin.

No, something small. Intimate. She paused, her words turning thoughtful, Though, if circumstances were different, a big ceremony would have been wonderful. 

She walked further in as silence settled over the pair. Her eyes danced, hoping to see the silhouette of her love appear. The anxiety she carried while waiting for him was well-founded, unfortunately; she did her best to quell the feeling, but it was rearing its ugly head now.

So much so that a wave of nausea hit her, causing her to turn away from Treepie and empty the contents of her stomach in a nearby bush.

Small and intimate sounded wonderful to Treepie. As much as the enjoyed the splendor of a ceremony in theory, it was not at all her thing in practice, even as a mere guest. Should she one day find someone who wanted to make a committment, Pie would like for it to be just the two of them, an officiant and a witness. Then they could celebrate with their closest kin afterward, though truthfully she could do without that part. It was supposed to be about the two of them, wasn’t it?

But she kept her thoughts to herself, particularly when Fleur abruptly turned away, raced toward the closest shrub and vomited. Alarm bells began ringing in the back of Treepie’s mind. Was she ill? Or had she merely eaten something that had disagreed with her? Pie didn’t want to be rude any more than she wanted to cut off their tour before it really began, though suddenly she knew she ought to get out of here.

First, though, she wanted to know, Hey, are you alright? I’m sure your mate’s on his way. Pie lifted her head to scan for any sign of the male she’d never met, then returned her concerned gaze to Fleur. Maybe you should lie down until he gets here.

sorry for the delay!

he had come fast to the sound of her voice—drawn not just by duty, but by the sharp pull that lived in his blood now, the tether to her heat, to her scent. it was a call he could not ignore. would not. fleur was his, and when she called, all other things became background noise.
his hulking shape arrived at the ridge above, frost-shadowed and fire-eyed. he did not leap down like a brute. he stepped. controlled. a quiet storm. his blue-gold eye sought her first, and though she was upright, the faintest trace of her nausea was still fresh upon the wind.
a warning howl surged behind his teeth, but he bit it back. there was no threat here—only the scent of a stranger female, younger, foreign, but not aggressive. and not touching his wife.
his gaze finally turned to the black, white, red hued female. a flicker of cool assessment passed over his features. no scorn, no threat—just the calm reserve of a man who was already growing impatient to comfort his queen.
you are welcome in forneskja, he rumbled, i see you've met my wife, i am solharr.
then, to fleur, his entire body softened.
he came to her, pressing his muzzle to the side of her face, anchoring her with scent and breath, murmuring just for her.
you should have waited in the den. you carry fire in your womb now, my love.

Fleur wiped her mouth on a foreleg, aware that it was just a transfer of a mess from one spot to one that was less…unsightly. Clearing her throat, she nodded, bobbing once as if any more would cause the world to spin. She closed her eyes, but remained standing; if she were to move now, she feared she would somehow fall off the earth.

I’m alright. Thank you, I— Her words stopped as her eyes found Solharr’s silhouette crowning the ridge. Like a balm, his arrival soothed the anxiety coiling in her belly. A soft smile bloomed as he closed the distance, her eyes flickering between mate and neighbor as he addressed her. Coming to her, his muzzle pressed to hers, and she leaned in with eyes closed, taking in his scent slowly.

His words brought forth a small chuckle, one mixed in amusement and exasperation. Oh, hush. Even the gods know better than to keep me contained, fire or not. Her gaze then left his, head turning slightly so she could peer at her own belly. Could it be true? Were there little flickers of flames burning low?

Fleur subtly shook her head—no, it’s too early to tell. She chalked up the nausea and dizziness to heightened emotions, the fear that her husband would not come at her call had become strong in her. Then came guilt in feeling such a way; she had not held onto the anger that followed his unannounced departure and subsequent return, but she couldn’t deny the ghost of abandonment haunting her. 

Another inconspicuous shake of her head, Fleur returned her eyes to Solharr, placing a gentle lick on his nose. Our neighbor here— she paused to nod in Treepie’s direction, —wanted to see the Quarry and had some questions about our pack. I thought you might be a more credible source. 

A wave of dizziness hit her, her body swooning slightly. She took in a deep breath, sitting as she exhaled. Maybe she was hungry, or dehydrated?

Fleur insisted she was alright, though Treepie was not convinced. She didn’t get a chance to reply before the woman’s mate appeared, a gigantic male with a swarthy coat. Despite his welcome, the yearling felt intimidated by his enormous size. She sidestepped subconsciously, her lips pressing together as Pie watched him check in with his mate.

Tiuttuk felt extremely awkward at their intimate exchange. She slid another step backward, this time deliberately, in an attempt to give them some space. It was sweet, the way they murmured and nuzzled, but it made the Regent feel like an intruder. She wanted to leave them to it, a sudden and painful twinge in her thigh reminding her that she might need the attention of a healer too.

I think it can wait until another day, Treepie said when Fleur mentioned a tour to Solharr. I’d be happy to come back at a better time. For now, you should probably take it easy. I know he’ll take good care of you, she said, eyes flicking to Solharr’s massive frame, entirely capable of protection. Take care of yourselves, were her only other words as she made a slow retreat.

he came to fleur's side without hesitation, the curl of his neck low as his muzzle met hers, breathing her in, grounding them both. her fire was dim, tired—but still there. he could feel it. his paw brushed lightly against hers, a silent vow, steadying her as she sat.
your voice called louder than any storm, he murmured, lips near her temple. i will always come.
his gaze then drifted to the young woman—white, with the markings of wind and ash. a stranger. she flinched back at his size, and solharr softened in response, tipping his head with the grave courtesy of kings.
thank you for accompanying her, he said simply. you will always be shown kindness
his eyes lingered on her limp, on the discomfort she tried to tuck away behind her quiet retreat.
he turned back to fleur then, his body curving protectively around her seated frame, the rise of her side beneath his paw something holy. he did not speak of her sickness. not now. not before the gods confirmed what stirred beneath her ribs.