Phoenix Maplewood sweet adieu

sega stepped from the pines like something carved out of fog and stone, not rushing, not looming—simply there. the gold of his eyes caught the thin morning light, steady as fire at the bottom of a pit.

his paws stopped well before he reached them, space left wide and open. no trap. no circle. only witness.

no capture, he said, voice low and rough, broken common softened by calm. hn. great sky not hunt women. not hunt wanderers.

his gaze moved from the desert flame to the ice-blooded girl, reading the tension in her stance, the tight set of her jaw.

i watch only, he added. land mine guard. not you.

a faint tilt of his head, almost a bow. rain clung to his fur, breath warm in the cold air.

you safe, sega murmured, firm but gentle. wind bring you here… not me.

then, a beat of quiet, his eyes narrowing just slightly—not threat, but recognition.

no fear. i stand alone.