Bitterroot Valley ✢ Pretty boy

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.