bearclaw valley has become newt's favorite hideaway — though he makes no secret that he frequents it. he's found the passage between the two; cave and tunnel secreted away by the thick growth on either side. though the bison have returned some time ago the scent of
large game — venison and other ungulates most notably — have begun to influx in the valley. bearclaw was becoming self-sustaining again and it fills newt with something ...contentment, excitement. bearclaw has become his safe haven when things back home have become challenging.
even after his talk with arlette, and time spent considering the advice she gave him, newt still has yet to talk to his parents. perhaps it was the fact that he knows his thoughts and feelings feel disobedient that keeps his tongue firmly clamped betwixt his teeth. casually, he moves thru the familiar terrain of the valley, trudging thru deeper snows where it banks and then into shallow paths of snow where he's trailed through before, blinking the fat snowflakes of the moderate snow shower of his lashes as he heads into bearclaw's heartland.
so much, and yet so little, escaped merrick's one-eyed burning.
the valley was becoming home to new life, and the boy was pleased. those who had chosen to follow him would be rewarded, and it renewed his faith in ursus.
he was in a fine mood once again, bloodthirst having gone to ashes these last long months. the need seemed to have ceased to exist; merrick had become a priest of sorts, marveling at the work of his god with all the focus he had once put toward his dark hunt.
the cloudsilver wrath with eyes that burned verdant even at this distance, brilliant and cold fire, drew the coywolf as if he were a beacon. he was immediately fascinated, held himself as a commander of the valley, but there was visible warmth in merrick as he roved closer.
"following the herds?"
wrapped in a cocooning blanket of his own thoughts and problems ( insignificant as they perhaps were ) it has escaped his notice as he flits between the territories that there are wolves living in the valley and that newt is more or less an uninvited squatter. even now, he remains in blissful ignorance of his own trespassing so that when he is approached — in a manner that doesn't strike him as aggressive but is nevertheless commanding — newt is surprised. at first, by the stranger's presence and then by the scars and empty eye socket that draws the point of his imperial jade gaze.
realizing that his staring could be taken as rude and inappropriate, newt averts his eyes then. something like that.
he murmurs in response; not quite willing to divulge in the issues at home with a complete stranger. you?
he asks in return, at the nudge of social convention his brain gives him.
merrick found himself inspected, turned over and over in the eyes of the youth before politeness made its way forward. but he had not been offended by the staring. he knew what his looks could make another person feel.
pity, perhaps.
feigning an expression of goodwill, the young madman lifted his chin. "well," he mused aloud, glancing in the direction where the elk made their winter grazing, "they're my herds."
awakened, roused; the bear spirit whispered of several things, but only in words for merrick.
they are my herds.
imperial gaze volleys to the stranger, ears cupping forth; alert at the possession in the simple sentence. in a manner that newt cannot explain he peers around — cautiousness renewing — as if given new insight before his gaze flickers back to the other male where it lingers.
it is only now that it sinks in that perhaps this male means to claim this territory ...perhaps he has already begun the process and the whole reason newt fails to notice ( beside his own distracted failure to pay attention ) is because of the sequestered tunnel he's been using. always seeking to protect hearth & home despite that he doesn't really agree with what's been happening lately he has no intentions of letting the tunnel connecting their territories be known.
it's a secret that would go to the grave with him ...provided someone else didn't find it first. regardless, he wouldn't utter a single word about it.
i'm more of a bison man, personally.
newt offers as a subtle way of communicating that he wasn't going to infringe upon claimed herds. the easthollowians were more focused upon the bison herds anyway and for that newt's suddenly grateful. you seek to claim this place then?
asking it aloud, giving voice to the thought that his excursions here might end real soon, fills him with a sort of sorrow.
not missing the message cupped beneath the other's words, and impressed to have it coded to him so, merrick nods graciously. "yes. i was born here. made the only sense to come back to it, make it mine." he gazed around the spiraling sights of the high stone walls, the vast expanse of snows that made the same work of wood and flatland alike.
but all his. all for the nightshade also.
"i imagine you live close, then," merrick mused lightly, seizing upon the pack-scent wreathing the green-eyed boy, the mention of this place now being claimed.
in truth, he knew. had he not been there in his youth? this was a member of easthollow, a recent youngster. born after the fall of bearclaw, merrick suspected, giddy in his superiority, in the game of it.
at the stranger's confirmation and explanation newt makes a noncommittal noise in his throat. it does make sense ...so why does he feel at so unease all the sudden? was it his own realization that he could not escape here when things became too overwhelming to him in easthollow? or was it something else? newt doesn't waste the focus to try to figure it out; at least not right that moment. another question is posed and for a moment newt feels the rising want to get prickly; born of his desire to protect his home.
but lying doesn't seem like a viable option. not when his coat is saturated with the scents of easthollow that lay right next door to the valley. the other male would be to be nose blind to not know of easthollow's neighboring presence. yes.
but that simple grunt of a word is all he feels inclined to speak on the matter.
oh! the poor boy, and merrick, his laughter came openly, and was warm when it arrived. "don't worry. i was born here," he told the wary child. "this used to be a pack called bearclaw valley. ask anyone in easthollow, i wouldn't lie." there was little reason to torment the wayfarer.
for merrick was deeply intrigued and fulfilled by coming to rest not only in his birthplace, but alongside the hollow he had found tied in
her
pelt
a humming beneath his breath. "did you ever know a woman called indra?"