He does not need to bare his teeth to be known.
In the hush between breath and thought, he watches. The stone is cold beneath him, but the sun warms his face, and that is enough. There is no performance here. No need to prove. This is the quiet hold of a being that remembers the hunt—but chooses stillness. Strength, when not threatened, is gentle. And in that gentleness, the world leans in.