Bitterroot Valley ✢ Natural blood-stained blond

sega watched him feed, breath ghosting through the cold. the sound of teeth on hide was harsh, honest. he did not interrupt. hunger was a kind of prayer.

when the boy finally stopped, sega’s head lifted slightly. his voice came rough from his chest, half growl, half wind.

good, he said, the word thick with weight. you eat. not die tonight.

silence stretched, filled by the scrape of claws against frozen earth.

after a moment, his gaze found the boy again. you hunt alone long time, sega said. not a question. a knowing. world make you lean. cold make you sharp. but not all storm meant to fight alone.

he tore a piece of meat for himself, chewing slow, and let the words fall upon him liek snowdrift. wind carry name. what it call you, boy?