Sunset Valley you are my sunshine, my only sunshine

Sega’s head tipped, pale eyes heavy in the half-light. The river whispered between them, but his voice cut through it, rough and solemn.
I lose people too, he said, words thick with memory, with weight that pressed in his chest. Of cousins. Of Ayovi. His scars seemed to speak the rest, the lives and places already carved from him.
Then his gaze found hers, unblinking. A shake of his great head, a vow as much as a statement.
But not you.
The words sat low in his throat, stinging. His flank brushed hers, a quiet ether offered in place of all the things he couldn’t shape into words.