Whitefish River a thousand times good night

he's a ways from the borders

what had happened near the coast shook the one-eyed boy, and so he had retreated further inland. astara would follow; she always did. despite himself, merrick had come to trust her. there was a lust within him, however, one that could not be shaken, and soon his trail was marked with the flayed bodies of rabbits and squirrels, animals with their last wretched moments still writ upon their frozen faces.
but since the boy, merrick found he wanted more. it was with great merriment and no sense of self-preservation that he discovered, quite by accident, that his hunter resided upon the lake. and perhaps there also, the quarry that the yearling had realized too late he had lost.
the thirst in him grew; he hunched grimly in the shrubberies, wondering how best to slip through such defenses and seek the blood for which he longed.