Bitterroot Valley and i saw nothing here but you

The dragon takes this time to savor what he has; what he could lose, in a blink of an eye. Seeds of a plant planned in Zephyr’s mind by his own words could very well be the silver’s undoing—yet cradled instead within his embrace, the dragon finds comfort in stone and ice.
He nuzzles, brushing broad strokes over Zephyr’s neck with his muzzle.
“He doesn’t matter. None of it matters but you.”
Pointed fur stands upon end, a visible shudder courses from nose to tail tip— Kratos has the urge to bite him, to mark him, for it to scream that he’s his to the world; no one else could ever have him. He is perfect, and this perfection looks back at him with wants and matters.
Zephyr has made him feel important before, but the weight of this knocks it out of the park and sends it flying. The magnitude overwhelming to the dragon who’s sought against the tides to find this feeling.
He pulls him close, suffocatingly so, and if tears are shed they are at least their secret.