Redsand Canyon the death of orchids

merrick seated himself in the scarlet sand, looking down as he flexed his toes against the cool grains. once upon a time, his paws had been stained the same as her own, for a different reason.
donovan — breath hitching in his throat as the witch described a threat to his future. the underbelly of fish flashing, the sound of their fins cutting the surface. gaze narrowing; he waited for her to go on. 
strength in the teeth and claws of ursus. a family — how had she known this? — and a legacy to build further. merrick's mouth ran dry as before his own mind's eye, winnowing threads of scarlet seemed to wend from the heart of one child to another, his murderous little avians.
"more of them," he whispered, licking awed lips and peering sidelong at the witch. "you speak truly." it was not said with reluctance, only a quiet reverence, a wonderment. perhaps she was like the priest of the bears, and merrick knew swiftly that they must meet. "i destroyed the last strife that came to me and mine. and he lived here." not destroyed, truly, but ursus stood and the saints had departed. victory enough for the mad prince.