Bitterroot Valley and i saw nothing here but you

Clasped finally, the dragon captures the treasure he desires most; yet the touch is fleeting, the raw limb flashes before pale gold eyes. He’s never expected hesitancy before. Here he does. The slack of his grip enough for the silver to dart into the opening he’d given—the blade to his neck. Liquid nitrogen threatens to freeze him; for once Kratos shivers, his fire and warmth doing little under the bitter chill. His eyes remain defiant, yet his jaws clack together—a signal of his defeat.