Whitebark Stream yes i am still alive unfortunately

snow crunches under sega’s paws as he leaves the maplewood, scent still fresh in his mind. he slows when another smell rolls in—old hide, cold water, and a body like a fallen tree.

he spots the white brute by the stream, half-awake, half-cursing the world.

sega stops where he can be seen. no rush. no teeth. just presence.

a low huff leaves him, not a challenge. a greeting.

you loud sleeper, he says, rough humor threading his broken common. one brow lifts as the man drags the hide. and that pelt… gods, it fight you back.

he shifts his weight, relaxed but watchful.

this great sky edge, sega adds. i not here to take your rest. just passin’.