Wyatt sized Danny up - the face confirming what the voice had already told him - and relaxed slightly, weight shifting back onto his heels. Alert, but not aggressive.

He wasn't looking for a fight. Not with some boy not even into his peach fuzz yet.

(Though, maybe, he should have been. The knot was there, low between his shoulder-blades. A reminder. A weight.

Eight arenas. He knew how slim his odds were if he didn't win...

...But he couldn't do it. Not in cold blood.)

"Wyatt," he replied. "Wyatt Earp."

He jerked his head back over his shoulder, gesturing toward the kitchen behind him.

"There's plenty enough yet, we ain't got'a fight over it."