Moonstone Quarry I won't let you go, I feel it in my bones

All welcome!

The Quarry stood in silence as Fleur sank into the earth, her thoughts buzzing like a swarm. The sun’s warmth draped over her like a blanket—comforting, steady, almost like a lover’s embrace. Not that she knew what such affection felt like, but she imagined it might be this: warm, supportive, and safe.

The breeze was her constant companion, finding her in these quiet moments. It felt alive, as if the Quarry was breathing with her. Maybe, in some ways, it was. And, just maybe, it would carry to her what she craved most: her memories and sense of self. 

She struggled with each new day, knowing that she had the power to shape a new story, to build a life amongst the ancient rocks—but she would do so knowing that there would always be something missing, something vital.

Her words were soft, but echoed in the silence. Tell me, give me anything. Was that dream a memory, or was it only just that—a dream? I want a fresh start, but I am plagued with echoes of something I can’t quite grasp. Who was I? Am I even worth remembering? There was no response—and she didn’t truly expect one. She let loose a defeated sigh, head lifting to the heavens.

The sun warmed her face as she breathed—deep and slow as the Quarry filled her. There was peace here, she felt it—but would it stay? Or, would it be stolen, too?

solharr stood over her, silent as the stone beneath their feet, watching the small flicker of her body fold into the earth. he did not rush her. he did not speak for a long time. the sun dragged gold across the quarry’s broken back, and the wind stirred the dust between them like spirits.

dreams. memories. they are the same in the end, his voice was rough, not unkind, but carved raw as weathered stone. both will betray you, if you let them.

the words fell heavy, simple as truths often were. he turned his head slightly then, so that she might see the hard cut of his face, the steadiness in him.

you are here. that is what matters.
a long pause, the silence thick with meaning. then, quieter, you are worth remembering.

he did not offer comfort like soft words or easy smiles. he offered something harder, older — the promise that standing, surviving, being — was enough.

His frame indeed engulfed hers, the brightness behind closed lids dimmed in the shadows of him. She remained facing skyward, yet a single eye cracked to observe his steadfast strength; the hard lines of his face enticing her to follow every ridge, every dip, every scar.

To some, he could be a living nightmare, hacked and carved by battles, from loss and pain, made of granite and jagged brimstone. To her, however, he was a dream sculpted not by ruin, but by resilience—weathered, yes, but all the more beautiful for the scars he carried.

She was quiet for a moment as his words drifted around her like a steady melody. Finally, she stood, her eyes finding his as a soft smile bloomed, her head cocked slightly.

Ever the sweet-talker. She hummed a chuckle as she stepped forward to walk the pool’s edge, eyeing the way the water glinted as the sun peaked through clouds.

When she spoke again, her words were soft in volume only, they were hard in the way tides crashed upon land, the angry storm that lived within her threatened to burst her resolve. 

I do not wish for any more betrayal. Not from dreams or memories, nor from the sea and those who have deserted me. Not from anyone. 

Sunstone eyes dragged away from the water to clash with his, a curiosity made of fire built in her chest.

Tell me, Solharr…can a heart stitched together by hope survive reaching for something as fragile as a dream?

solhárr stood still as stone, gaze unmoving as her voice washed over him. it wasn’t the water he watched now, nor the light flickering on the pool’s edge. it was her — and the storm that moved beneath her skin.

her question held weight. not a child’s wondering, but the ache of someone who’d buried too much and still dared to dig. the kind of ache he understood too well.

he stepped closer, slow, deliberate, each pawfall a statement. the scar down his brow cast its familiar shadow across one eye as he looked at her — truly looked. wind stirred his fur, but nothing else in him moved.

only if the heart knows it may break again, he said, voice low and rough as worn stone. dreams aren’t soft things, fleur. they bite. they bleed us. a beat, breath drawn deep. but sometimes... they carry us farther than fear ever could.

his gaze didn’t leave hers. didn’t falter.

hope is a risk. so is trust. so am i.

She met his gaze fully, her vulnerability bared before him. He stepped closer, sure and steady, very much unlike the way her heart rattled and raged in her chest. Breath hitched as he spoke, his timber rumbling through her as the last of them inspired her to move.

hope is a risk. so is trust. so am i

And so, she dared. She took the risk her heart and her mind have been warring with since he found her that mist-filled morning. The wind stirred, an urging for her storm to meet his immovable shore. He was worth the risk.

And she reached for him.

Her eyes did not leave his as she moved, a question laid within them—do you dare to dream, again? Her paw came up, hesitating ever so slightly, before gently making contact with the side of his face that she did not fear. Could never fear, for it was as beautiful as his heart. 

I have come to know a dream made of ancient stone and fire, rough around the edges and lit from within. A kind-hearted weathered soul who took in a wind-swept flower, plucking her from a loneliness she had been drowning in for what seemed like a lifetime. She paused, her smile crinkling the corners of her eyes. 

I may not know where I come from and who I was before, but— a deep breath in, —I do know one thing: I find myself never wanting to wake from this dream.

And there it was, the bottle she kept so safe within the confines of her burning heart shattering with the weight of her words. She offered him these pieces of her, leaving them to glitter in the palm of his hands. He could choose to drop them, to let them scatter on the wind, or he could choose to feel their bite, and bleed.

the storm had always been a thing he’d weathered.
but never like this.
never so gentle. never with eyes like hers.

solhárr stood still beneath the weight of her reaching, the wind curling around them both like some ancient witness. her paw against the side of his face felt like warmth pressed into stone — something he had never allowed, never dared to keep. yet she did not tremble at the jagged half of him. her gaze did not shift from the scars.

and so he did not flinch.

her words fell like soft rain across dry earth. each one soaked in, unsettling the quiet bastion of his heart. he had not meant to be a dream for her. he had only meant to keep her alive. yet here she was, offering him something he could not name, something that shook him deeper than any wound ever had.

his paw came up, heavy and scarred, to rest lightly over her own.

then dream with me, came the low murmur at last, no louder than wind through old pine.

Her storm--once raging under skin-- gave way, allowing sun to peek through as his paw came to cover hers, the warmth of it a welcome scald, one that matched the burning in her veins. She did not mention her visit to the Altar, and the words she spoke to Callyope, but she felt them now.

"I cannot--will not--replace what’s been lost. His love for you is eternal. It will never fade. Yet... I burn for him too. I burn the way lightning ignites dry wood--sudden and consuming. I am but a moth to his flame. The tides that worship his moon. And I would follow his light, because I know... he would guide me home."

The winds cried out songs of old as they encircled the two, both suspended in gentle touches and eyes searching. However, no sooner did the words leave his lips that she came undone. She did not crumble, no--it was a slow melting, a letting go of what had been to now gaze upon what could be. 

And, what could be stood before her now, accepting her touch and whispering words she dared not to wish. Sunstone eyes watered with emotion, yet a smile formed, bright, crinkling the corners of her eyes. A gentle laugh of warbly disbelief escaped her.

Her other paw came up to mirror the other, his face held in her palms. She drew him closer to hers, only stopping enough to where they were just barely touching, giving him the grace of choice, and whispered, If I am to bleed, then so be it.

sorry so late, we can close if you wish <3

his gaze, stormworn and scorched by the old gods, did not waver.
fleur’s words met him like sun on ice— melting something buried deep, something long refused. her paws were warm, softer than he thought he deserved. his own, worn and calloused from battle and prayer, stayed steady against her cheek. he searched her face, not for answers, but for truth. it was there, in the burn of her eyes. the ache. the belief. the ache with belief.
then bleed with me, solharr said, voice thick with gravel and something gentler underneath. his head dipped closer, muzzle brushing hers like the passing of cloud-shadow over snow. not as a wound. as a vow.
he did not speak of callyope. not now. she was sky, ever watching. she had already shaped him, and now the shape of him— scarred and sacred— stood before this woman who dared meet him with open hands.
i would carry your fire if you asked it, he murmured. i would be burned, and not call it pain.

welcome back, solharr <33 i will fade out here! Made a little ending that seemed like a plausible outcome haha lemme know if it needs changing!

Fleur remained still as she was pinned by his searching gaze. Did he see the inferno that was her soul when he was near? Could he see her heart beating harder with every stretch of silence they shared? Or see the way her body reacted now as the timber of his voice, of his words, reverberated in the chasm of her heart?

Her eyes closed, breath hitching at his touch along her muzzle—gentle yet something all consuming, akin to a crackling forest fire decimating all it touched.

The fire that burned for him, the same fire he dared to hold if she asked it flared brighter, hotter, pushing her to flee against him. Her lips brushed his, gently heated, soft and fleeting. She pulled herself from him, her gaze heated as she beckoned for him to follow. 

Night was coming soon, though it did not mean this had to end. She turned toward her den, paw outstretched.

Come, dream with me. Dream of fire, of blood, and vows. When you wake, know that it will not be the end. Not as long as I breathe and, maybe, even longer still. She would lead him and they would bed down onto the furs he had gifted her, the scent of him in every crook and cranny of her home, lulling her into a gentle rhythm of sleep.

There was blood and fire. Vows spoken and taken. Remnants of something fleeting, unattainable, flashing through her senses. Long buried, long forgotten, begging for release. Usually, she would wake, but tonight, she curled into Solharr’s embrace deeper, cocooned by his resilient strength and steadiness.