Redsand Canyon the death of orchids

tongue lolled. he listened to the witch's pronouncement, nodded once. so food. meat. the promise of company, though he wouldn't push it by assuming thus. hesitating; he wanted to tease her and then tell her of the bears,
breathe that they had always watched and saw everything, and that no woman astride a lonely canyon could tell him otherwise —
perhaps they also speak to her.
merrick did not like the idea, did not accept it. but he had made a bargain, even if she could only sense it. the bearwolf turned away.

when the boy returned it was with a lateborn fawn. already bound for death beneath winter; merrick had dragged it off and snapped its spindled neck with the precise jaws of one who separated muscle from bone. if she still waited, he would throw the corpse tumbledown and limp into the red sands. if she had departed, merrick would search for her.
he came 'round the edge of the stone where he had left the witch.