Phoenix Maplewood all those empty rooms

sega watches him eat without judgment, only a quiet nod as the hunger leaves the man’s shoulders.

he juts his muzzle toward the valley, where the land dips and the trees thicken. where smoke and scent and life gather.

is great sky, he says simply. we eat. we endure.

his voice lowers, not pressing. not binding.

if you need home, a small shrug of his broad shoulders, you can go. stay. or pass through.

a pause. eyes steady.

cold long, he agrees. but you don’t have to carry it alone.