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+--- Thread: Bitterroot Valley ✢ Pretty boy (/showthread.php?tid=66356)
✢ Pretty boy - Sega - September 25, 2025
Sega stood tall upon the lip of a low rise, shoulders broad and steady against the valley’s autumn chill. His pale coat caught the waning light, dusted with grit and travel, scars old and quiet upon his hide. Below him stretched the wide basin of the valley— a bowl of grass and stone hemmed in by mountains, the wind slipping in with a long, cold whistle.
And there, the herds. Caribou and elk moved in their slow tide, a living river of flank and antler. Sega’s eyes followed the current of them. Not as the aimless wanderer he had once been, but as hunter and strategist. His paws planted firm, every muscle quiet but alive as he read their shifts, their bunching, their stragglers. He had begun to push them, not with teeth, but with presence, the weight of his shadow at the ridge steering them toward narrow ground.
Behind him, somewhere in the stillness, Svana lingered— her scent a tether, familiar and warming. Further off, the darker shapes of Blackfell and Gjalla could not be ignored either, their eyes surely upon this same land. Yet here, in the silence between them, Sega was alone with the herds and the work of his body.
AW but can be for @Ezra or @Angel Oak
RE: ✢ Pretty boy - Ezra - September 27, 2025
the scent of caribou draws the stoneson with a watering mouth and a wild, reckless glint to fiery golden gaze. the musk of a large, warm meal was tempting to the young hunter, forced to survive on decaying scraps stolen and small woodland critters he was able to scrounge up. it was his own fault — having given up the search for his father and brother.
he's stuck in an endless loop of memories that rattle the cage of grief he has yet to fully work through, of hunting small birds for his mother, for him as the sickness slowly ate away at her bit by bit; unbeknownst to him.
a pale figure in the distance, gaze apparently focused on the herd catches ezra's attention. slinking body pauses, wild gaze roving from the stranger to the herd. the young and the sick, protected by the able bodies cleverly situated. it appears random, their grazing positions but ezra knows better. it's strategic. he understands, protect the pack, be tooth and claw for those who couldn't fight.
but mercy would be crushed beneath the the gnaw of hunger in his belly. a small pant pushes from betwixt his lips. logic tells him to hang back, to not be so foolish but hunger nips at his heels like a hellhound. still, he doesn't move yet, knowing that his accents of red would give him away: to the herd and to the stranger, if he was to look to his left. ...that was, providing ezra hadn't already been noticed.
RE: ✢ Pretty boy - Sega - September 27, 2025
Then a new scent threaded into the trail. Sharp, young, undeniably male. Hunger clung to it. Sega’s ears tipped forward, shoulders stiffening as his heavy frame went still against the slope. His icy eyes lifted from the herd and turned toward the source.
This was not Blackfell. Not Gjalla. Not even Svana.
He shifted his weight, muscle grinding beneath pale fur as he drew the stranger’s scent deeper into his chest. Young, reckless, hungry—the kind of wolf who might do something foolish for meat.
A twig cracked beneath Sega’s paw, loud and purposeful, the sound carrying through the brush. It was both warning and announcement: he had seen the intruder, and he was here. If the red-streaked wolf thought to lunge for the herd, he would not do it unchallenged.
RE: ✢ Pretty boy - Ezra - September 28, 2025
the snap of twig beneath paw from the pale spectre to his left does not go unnoticed by the stoneson. annoyance spears through him, a soft, low growl rumbling in the chest like the beginnings of a storm upon the distance as feral gaze snaps back to the elderly, the sick, the young of the herd.
but the warning had been heard and ezra's ears slick back against his skull.
hunger was an unpredictable thing, leeching into something akin to famine that lingers beneath his skin as if the godless has taken famine's essence into his body.
lack of purpose settles uneasily in ezra, leaving him adrift on an endless sea with no land in sight. golden gaze slides back to the stranger and he moves then, away from the herd — ignoring the hunger gnawing endlessly at his belly — towards the stranger.
this your herd?asks the stoneson upon his approach, germanic accent tangling heavily in his voice, raspy and rough from disuse.
RE: ✢ Pretty boy - Sega - September 28, 2025
The herd was his charge now, their rhythm pressed into him like the tide against stone. He watched the boy approach, the streaks of red upon him stark against his thin frame. Too young to be carved by hunger in such a way.
His head turned slowly, pale furs catching what little light the valley offered. The fur along his spine lifted—not in threat, but in warning, a wall built of instinct.
Yes,the word rumbled from his throat, guttural, carrying the weight of claim. His eyes swept the boy, noting each jut of bone beneath skin, the shadow of want carved deep.
Is alone?Sega asked then, voice rough, the question simple but edged. It was not just curiosity, but measure—to know if the boy had a pack, or if famine had stripped him bare of all things.
RE: ✢ Pretty boy - Ezra - September 28, 2025
yes.
it does not bring with it surprise, but in it's stead disappointment. even if ezra is acutely aware that there was no way he was taking down a caribou by himself — young, elderly or sick. isolation has proven time and again that it was no friend of the stoneson's. he does not handle it well. losing faith and purpose too easily in it.
for a moment, the wild-eyed bronco considers lying; there and gone like a train's whistle fading upon the wind in the following second. what was the point in it? there was none.
yeah. my pack disbanded a vhile ago. ...isolation does not sit vell vith me.a lofty shrug, as if he were admitting a simple fact instead of arguably his very worst demon.
RE: ✢ Pretty boy - Sega - September 28, 2025
Sega studied him in silence, the words carried on that thick accent settling like frost between them. The boy’s honesty did not move him to pity—only to thought. Alone, hungry, too thin. A wolf stripped of pack was a wolf stripped of half his strength.
A low sound pressed from Sega’s chest, neither agreement nor rebuke.
Hmm.
He turned without further word, heavy frame shifting through the crusted snow with the unhurried certainty of one who had already laid his claim here. His shoulders rolled with each stride, breath curling in the night air, and the pale cut of his gaze flicked back once, a wordless beckon.
Past the ridgeline, the valley opened to where an elk lay felled, its blood still sharp against the ice. Sega stopped beside it, paw pressing into the torn hide as he glanced sidelong at the boy.
Eat,he said simply, voice low, leaving no room for refusal.
RE: ✢ Pretty boy - Ezra - September 29, 2025
the stranger, ezra has come to quickly deduce, does not seem to be a man of many words. normally, this does not bother the stoneson but they are strangers — not even a exchange of names had been given — and it is clear to the young buck that he has encroached on if not territory than clearly property. a last glimpse at the herd is given before hesitant steps follow the stranger at the beckon.
a breath pushes past his lips; salmon tongue drawling across his jowls.
he was in no state to fight if he was being summoned, wordlessly, to a duel. ezra could let youthful arrogance bolster his ego but he was logic driven, for the most part. hungry. thin. weak. a fight would be the end of his short life.
still, wary he draws up to the elk, swallowing the pool of saliva in his mouth harshly as he's commanded to eat. wearily, he shoots the stranger a glimpse. everything had a price. what was the price of this meal? but temptation grips the stoneson in it's claws, tugging him into he depths and he's tearing a strip of meat from the carcass and chewing the meat and swallowing before going in from another bite.
it's only when he's had his fill, when his hunger is sated to the point of a small bought of nausea as if gluttony had taken over ezra in those moments, does he take a step back; cleaning off his jowls.
vhat is the price for the meat?he asks the question he should've asked in the beginning; he'd eaten at the other man's proverbial table ... and now the price was his own to pay.
RE: ✢ Pretty boy - Sega - September 29, 2025
Sega watched the boy tear into the elk, silent and unmoving as a stone set in the earth. He saw the way hunger ruled him, the way it stripped him of caution and pride alike. A boy, thin and restless, gnawed not by famine alone but by the truth of wandering without anchor.
When he finally pulled back, voice rasping with the question that hung between them, Sega’s head only shook once.
There no price,he said, voice husky, carrying the weight of earth and smoke.
The Ute are a peaceful people. We not trade blood for food.
His pale eyes fixed on the yearling, sharp as flint.
But a boy must become strong. Hunger will teach nothing. Eat, yes—but stand. Learn. Hunt. Then will your belly be filled without another man’s kill.
The older wolf shifted his stance, broad shoulders square to the carcass, as though the lesson itself were part of the marking of his valley.
I can teach. If you stay.
RE: ✢ Pretty boy - Ezra - October 02, 2025
the stranger speaks that there was no price and the small deadpan expression that the stoneson gives him is one that is weary, suspicious. ezra cannot help it. mistrust runs deep into the marrow of his bones by nature: having been woven deep into him since he was a child. those close to him and his mother had betrayed them: his step-father, his aunt.
the stoneson is silent as the man speaks more than one word, offering a glimpse into his beliefs. ezra is silent for a long, yawning moment. considering. if he didn't like it, if it didn't work out — ezra reasons with himself — he could always leave. and, if he kept going the way he was, he would surely not survive very long come the frosts.
i'll stay,decides ezra; golden gaze cutting from the kill back to the stranger.
i am called ezra.he offers like a handshake.
RE: ✢ Pretty boy - Sega - October 03, 2025
Sega’s golden eyes held the boy’s name as if weighing it, slow and deliberate.
Ezra,he repeated, voice gravelly and thick. He gave a slow nod, like stone shifting on the mountain.
Good. You stay,he said, a low rumble in his chest.
Boy must be strong. Winter come. Cold bite. Alone… you die.
His gaze swept over Ezra’s thin frame, the sharp lines of his ribs, before softening just slightly, like warmth flickering beneath ice. Sega shifted closer to the carcass, lowering himself heavily into the snow, leaving room at his side.
Here, you eat. Here, you live. My name… Sega.
RE: ✢ Pretty boy - Ezra - October 04, 2025
boy.
a boy that come spring would be a man. he'd be old enough to sire children; and though forced to grow up a long time ago in the worst of ways as sickness ate away at his mother, trying desperately to track down his brother and father, both of whom had vanished in a trail of blood —
and yet in some ways, he felt younger than ever.
thank you.ezra offers, knowing he would have to prove his gratitude by pulling his weight and proving his worth.