Bitterroot Valley Exit, Pursued by a Bruised Ego

callahan’s strike had been clean— the leg punctured, the bloodline trickling— and the elk stumbled just enough for sega to overtake.

he surged forward, jaws parting in a low, guttural sound. his teeth found the space behind her neck, that narrow seam where life could be ended without needless pain. he drove his weight down and forward, powerful shoulders anchoring the kill even as the elk gave one last desperate heave.

the struggle was brief. respectful. necessary.

when the body finally stilled, sega held for a beat longer, ensuring the mercy was complete, then lifted his head. his breath steamed in the air, gold eyes turning to find callahan running parallel— the exact place a brother should be.

he gave a short nod, chest rising with controlled breath.

good, he said, voice low, rough with exertion. clean work.

he stepped aside to allow callahan in, inviting him to share in the first taste of the kill. the bond forged in blood and breath was a simple one, but deep.

you hunt strong, sega added, calmer now. good for great sky.

it impressed him. truly. for what he prided himself upon was strong hunters; and here it was being proven as such to be surrounded by them.

we must keep the hide. when angel return, she can work with it.