Phoenix Maplewood Who the Hell is Leviticus Cornwall?

sega studied the brown male in silence, reading the tension beneath his stone-set posture, the hunger hidden under pride. the question didn’t surprise him. many chiefs before him would have demanded allegiance, labor, blood. but great sky was not built in that image.

his tail gave a slow sweep through the leaves.

hn, he rumbled, voice low but steady. nothing owed.

he stepped aside, enough space for the wind to move between them— a gesture of openness, not claim.

my land fed me when i was lone, he said. so i feed others. kindness must pass on. band chiefs before me… take too much. i not be same.

his gaze lifted, golden and calm.

you come for food, you eat. you come for rest, you rest. a pause, brief but weighted. you leave after if you choose. no chain.

the larger male’s scars caught a streak of maplelight; sega’s eyes lingered on them a breath longer.

if you stay, he added quietly, muscle welcome. voice welcome. but not price.

a small nod, firm as bedrock.

great sky grow by choice, not fear.