Moonstone Quarry But I'll swim to you, swim for my life

All welcome! @Moro, I summon thee! Totally fine to injure her—just nothing grave or fatal. Enjoy >:)

Deep within the Quarry, Fleur moved with care, gingerly making her way down toward what appeared to be pools of glittering water. When the sun stood high in the sky, its rays would strike the surface at just the right angle, making the water shimmer and sparkle--even from the highest ridge.

A creature drawn to beauty and wonder, she had finally given in to curiosity. Today, she had set out to investigate, hoping whatever caught her eye might be something she could collect.

After a series of careful twists and turns, she reached the bottom--and the sight that met her eyes stole the breath from her lungs.

Pools stretched out before her, each one a different shape and size, filled with water that gleamed like gemstones. No, not the water itself! Something within it sparkled, as though calling out to be discovered by the one bold enough to find them.

Stepping closer, her movements light over the jagged, uneven ground, she leaned in. Her eyes caught on curious stones nestled within the pools. They gathered in clusters--some opaque, some clear, and some a mesmerizing mix of both. Yet all were clearly visible against the bed of the pools, as if waiting to be seen.

She found it impossible to look away.

two days laid up here at the quarry. moro licks her wounds, and ponders moving on.

two more days to rest up and replenish.

the skitter of stones draw her attention from where she laid across a slab of granite.

downhill, among the glittering pools, walks the silhouette of another.

The winds shifted, bringing with it a scent that caused her hackles to rise. It was unfamiliar; it was not of Forneskja and not a scent she has come across before. But it felt dark. 

Dangerous.

She was not built of stone like the others--no, she was like a flower on the wind, soft. 

Breakable

Sunset eyes whipped back and forth, and when nothing was out of sorts, she turned to scan the rest of her surroundings. She wasn't sure what she would find, but she was certain that she was in trouble. 

And that trouble appeared soon as her eyes landed on a figure, feline and muscle, draped over granite. Watching her.

She growled, a little wavering; a poor attempt at intimidation. She really needed to work on that side of hers...

"You should not be here. L-leave here. Get!" She then sent up a howl, an alert and a plea for help, hoping that others from her pack were close enough to hear it.

the sound split the still air. a howl, high and thin—fleur.

he was already moving before the echo had faded.

solharr came fast, heavy steps pounding down the slope like thunder rolling from the mountain’s heart. the scent of cat hit him like cold steel. too close. far too close. he saw her then—his windflower—small, defiant, and facing down something twice her size.

he did not slow.

with a low, guttural snarl, he surged past her, placing himself squarely between the feline and fleur. his massive frame bristled, fur lifting down the spine. one eye burned with the fury of gods and the weight of bloodlines; the other lost, but no less sharp.

stay behind me, he growled low to her, voice like cracking stone.

his stance was wide, tail raised, body tense as a drawn bow. he did not roar—not yet. but the mountain cat would feel him, all the same.

little one makes a show of posturing. moro’s eyes gleam in amusement. 

nice try. she allows her claws to slide out from dark skin, raising a paw to her face and marveling the sharpness. 

little one would look just a little prettier without an eye, no?

before she can muster the energy — or frankly the interest — in enuncleation, another dog arrives bristling. he places his towering body between the two of them, body tense and tail high. 

placing her paw back upon the stone, moro slid her gaze to the cinnamon hued knight, superbly communicating disdain in the way only cats can.

what are you going to do about it?

Eyes widened at the display of the cat’s daggers. She was wildly ill-prepared. This was not a fight she would come out of unscathed—or alive if she were to be honest. 

It had been minutes since her call for help, yet it seemed that she would have to scrap with the feline alone.

Lips pulling back, she snarled, as deep and guttural as the flower girl could muster; her body pulling back like a trigger, her muscles pulled taught, ready to spring.

No sooner had she readied herself, Fleur felt living fire and brimstone sail over her, landing to shield her from the intruder. Solharr’s fury was palpable.

He was here, burning with a thousand suns, ready to make the cat nothing more than a pile of ash.

She would be safe, he would make it so.