Moonstone Quarry after the snow

aw :)

the stone knew him.
it did not sing, nor cry, nor bow— only stood as it always had, towering and patient, the teeth of forneskja’s quarry biting into the grey spring sky. but it knew him, and he knew it. each step solharr took across the ravine's mouth was firm and steady, as though his absence had never hollowed the place, as though the earth had only slept until he returned.
mud clung to the thick hair at his ankles, still wet from the rivers he had crossed. his broad back was marred by new scabs, sacred ones, rites etched by bark and bone and blood. the fur along his nape was darker now, saturated by the smoke of cedar and juniper, the breath of the gods he’d walked beside. teeth had not taken him. neither had madness. only silence, and the long gaze of things older than men.
he had gone far to be blessed by his missing wife’s spirit. to beg, if he must, that she guide what remained of their legacy.

i hope you don't mind me and a grumpy ezra, kek. <3

it had been moons since ezra had seen solharr, and is surprised now to catch his scent, mixed with mud as it was. and though ezra himself was prone to disappearing acts of his own — it is with a small smart of shame that he considers how anselm and gideon must feel — it is not the same he is quick to reassure himself; offering a misshapen balm to his upset.

he was not a leader. not responsible for the lives of others. solharr was.

the stoneson moves quick to intercept solharr, who has clearly seen better days.

you've been gone for some time, solharr. ezra breaks his silence upon his approach.

Their leader had gone, followed by the trailing of some others. The quarry was frozen in time by this, it seemed, though Anaona did her best to remain busy. Easy to do, with what little a group they were. 

Digging now through the soft loam near the river for fungi, she pauses in this as the scent of Sólhárr's comes to her on the breeze. Taking the last mushroom she had found and settling it in her pile, she then makes way to the source. The young man of sun and moon was here, someone she assumed related to @Fleur with their similiar coats, both of such unique vibrance. 

Pausing near, pale eyes fix upon their lead. Have you found peace? Sorrow he wore like a harloom, the same which she dressed in. Anaona had long accepted the burning up of her once life, had known such cruelty to be the way of things, as equal love and beauty could come of things. Still, she struggled to find herself once again with this new start. Had Sólhárr's journey brought him relief?

She had looked for him. Looked for the others who had seemed to disappear without a trace.

Scoured all that she could reach, yet always came up short. Her days had grown darker despite the sun greeting what was left of the pack each morning; the vibrancy of her world faded with each unsuccessful attempt at seeking out those who have gone. Dancing became something of the past, her body unable to muster a single step.

Fleur was lost, again.

She had begun to lose hope that he would return to them. To her. So when the scent of Solharr crossed her path, she shook her head, ignoring it. It was a figment of her imagination, much as it had been many times before. The female moved on, head low, feeling the weight of her loss like she was buried under stone, forced to walk with it.

There it was again. This time, it was stronger. Earthier. She paused her steps, unsure if she should let her dwindling hope carry her once more, or let the scent drift on the wind. She was afraid. Afraid to be disappointed. Afraid that for all that she had confessed to him, it would be nothing more than a dream.

A nightmare.

But, what if it weren’t? What if—

She ran. Fleur had promised him it would never end—this dream—she would bleed and burn. It was her vow and she would not break it. No matter how much she had felt broken.

Reaching a high rise overlooking the entrance of their sacred land, she skidded to a halt to look over its edge, searching. Her eyes registered Ezra and Anoana, fleeting glances before her gaze was pulled away to find her heart standing before the others.

Her gasp echoed; her surprise filled the quarry. But, she did not bound down the rocks to meet him, nor did she utter a single word in greeting. She wanted to be angry with him. Part of her was, she supposed, but what truly filled her now was a burning, a longing to reach for him. The shock of seeing him in the flesh, and not as an apparition or in her dreams as she slept, kept her in place.

cameo

It was with burning gaze Kinusi settled her eyes on the leader. Her father would have never. And could she throw stones, no ahe couldn't. For she herself had disappeared for a time, but her search hadbeen for him. Even if no one knew but herself.

She settled to her haunches overlooking, but not flitting among. And she stood apart but never far and she watched. Hopefulky he would beg for all of their forgiveness but more so she hoped he felt guilt.

his chest was tighter, leaner, wrapped in the scent of places beyond the vale— lichened stone, moss-heavy groves, smoke of natural northern fires. but he bore gifts, and they were many: pelted bundles of dried fish, pine-wrapped parcels of mushrooms, lengths of caribou hide bundled with care.
to each he would give what he could.
to ezra, who met him first: a short nod of apology, and then the fish. for you, he said lowly.
to anoana: a string of glossy riverroot swine, hastily knotted. he did not answer her question— not with words— but the ache in his gold-blue eyes might have been reply enough. peace was not found. it was made. he was trying.
to kinusi, whose judgment flamed from afar: a white hare pelt, soft as contrition. he placed it gently by a stone where she might see it, but not him.
and for fleur—
he turned to her last.
the world sharpened.
the sun carved down the hollow of his spine and his legs locked in place, head held low. she had not run to him. she did not need to. he saw her— truly saw her, as he always had. something frayed inside him at the sight of her, something humbled, something afraid.
he set down the final pelt— caribou, white, his own. a symbol of his absence. a mark of return.
forneskja does not live in me alone, solharr said, voice like old bark, cracked but standing. i went to bring back more than meat. more than skin. i bring what i can. and if that is not enough… his gaze met fleur’s, unwavering now, i will earn your steps again. one by one.
then, to them all, he bowed. jaw near the earth, chest brushing the stone. a wolf made of mountain. a chieftain, returned.

ezra blinks at the fish, neither accepting or denying it, watching as the others gathered are presented with gifts of their own. gifts, he thinks, is not the proper term. apologizes. apologizes for leaving them without a leader — however temporarily it may have been. without word, as far as ezra was concerned.

he had thought solharr gone for good; whisked off into the night. he had considered leaving and staying and leaving again —

he watches, like the stone he is carved from as solharr bows before them, low to the earth. ezra is not forgiving nor particularly trusting by learned nature. he had seen what his mother's good nature had gotten her: mistreated by the man that had taken her as wife, and then chased out by her own blood. and the illness that had stolen druid had eventually taken her, too.

it would be some time before he could trust solharr again, though how that would play out with the man's rank reinstated ... ezra cannot say. by all rights, it was solharr's throne to reclaim. that didn't mean ezra had to make it easy, to claim 'all's forgiven' and be on his merry way. that was not and never had been ezra.

ve vill see.

A bundle of riverroot laid at her paws. His eyes seeking her own. A white paw lifts, as though she might touch him at the front of his shoulder, but she does not. She would only nod, taking her bundle into her mouth and stepping back to the side so that he might address the others. So that he may speak to his people. 

Welcome home. Northern words of their people. A people far from here. With the roots does she then turn, her eyes cast upon those gathered as she leaves. Last to the woman @Fleur, who's pain shown deeply in his absence. Had the woman favored him, then? To fill the space where sorrows still lingered of one lost. Maybe Sólhárr would indeed find happiness again.

She continued her silent watch as he bestowed gifts to each member who had remained, those who stood in the Quarry in his absence. His words, filled with humbled apology and a request for forgiveness, echoed. Her heart threatened to cease its heavy beating as he looked to her, his words constricting her breath.

When he bowed to them all, she began her descent. His humility was something to admire, but it is not what she wanted to see. Not from him. Not from the one who stood at the epicenter that is Forneskja, the weight-bearing pillar of this pack. No—when she finally reached him, she dipped her head down to his, words soft. 

Rise, Solharr. Show them what I know to be true; you are our Hárkonungr. And when you are done here, come to me. There are things that must be said. She took a step back from him, warring emotions in the windows to her soul; he would see them, she had no doubt, and he would hear them. Soon.

Her eyes fell from his down to the caribou pelt he had laid as a gift to her. It smelled of him, of fire and stone, and, if things had been different, she would have been quite giddy to receive it. There would have been a dance as soon as she placed it on her shoulders—but her anger, her hurt, had won this time and there was no dance to be found as she settled it over herself. There was only a look shared between woman and man, the wind gentle as it swirled to mingle with breath. After what seemed close to an eternity, she nodded to him before turning to make her leave.

Her gaze drifted over the others, a smile offered to each one, one of a shared pain in what had been the loss of their leader, now returned. Forgiveness seemed a simple thing, but she had felt the tension as she passed, and it would not be so. But, it will come—she believed that. For herself, for the pack, and for Solharr.

It will come.