Bitterroot Valley ✢ With the holes in his sneakers

Sorry for the wait!

Sega’s hackles eased, though the tension still rippled beneath his pale hide. The stranger’s words hung in the air—steady, not boastful—and that earned him a measure of respect. His golden eyes lingered on the black wolf’s blood-marked muzzle, then drifted to the valley beyond them, the curve of mist and grass.
It is beautiful, he said, the words heavy with truth. His tone was still edged, but quieter now. You see what I keep. What I guard.
A slow nod followed, the set of his jaw firm but no longer hostile. Brothers, for now, he allowed, the phrase carrying both warning and acceptance.
Then, without another word, Sega stepped to the kill’s edge and lowered his head, taking his share of the meat—a silent truce sealed in blood and breath.