Bitterroot Valley and i saw nothing here but you

A sharp blade turns to him, the edges press right upon his throat, threatening to slice through. Yet Kratos leans into it, unafraid, for he’s ready for whenever the slice would come—Zephyr can wield it whenever he wishes, or dispose of him as he sees fit. He’s come so far, only to be wrapped around the finger of another all over.
No. Enchanted as he may be, the dragon still holds the power to reject. Let me be your teeth. Lest the silver end up spiraling in despair for a life lost. No matter the loathing that may boil, in the core Zephyr still cares to call him his father. The love has not died for him yet.