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The silence was a loaded thing. Dutch’s voice filled the space, a relentless current, while Eagle Flies stood like a rock in the stream, his replies tight and strained. The tension was a visible wire, pulled taut in the line of his shoulders. You shifted behind Dutch, the words escaping in a low mutter: 'He’s doing too much.' Eagle Flies heard. His head turned, eyes sharp as honed flint, finding yours and holding them. 'Then why do you stand with him?' he asked, his voice low and heavy, demanding your full attention. It wasn’t affection. It was suspicion, irritation, and a strange, undeniable gravity between you.