Bearclaw Valley deep in earth

anyone wanna gopher a hunt?

little brown creatures, popping intermittently from the earth. she watches from a distance.

this is Avicus's first experience with pocket gophers, and she is immediately interested. for one, they are food. . .obviously. anything smaller than them is a snack; that much has been made clear to her. also, they live underneath the ground, like the worms.

big, giant, furry worms. she wants to squish them like worms.

her ruddy fur is a liability, though, against the green grass of summer, and she squints into the rain as she waits for another gopher to emerge again. she will have to be quick. stealthy, silent. . .

a head emerges, then a fat little neck, and she surges forward, slinking along on her belly and then launching herself at the prey. her paws hit—the ground, each on either side of the hole, the gopher having slid back into its hiding spot once more. and presumably warning the others—

sigh. frustrated, she backs away, waiting for another try.

something in his corvid, something rotblack and hateful and simmering. merrick did not understand it, only that it was a different malevolence than the one they had shared an eternity ago. today he found himself resentful and bitter over the seeds that had blundered from her body, leggy, clumsy little 
— well, merrick supposed they were killers now. or aspired to be. the hardening of his heart against the pair ceased, reverse, and instead the witch scouted off for one of their trails or another.
it was the redgirl's he discovered in the wet earth, and when he came upon avicus, she had backed away from the hole with its insouciant earth-harpy occupant. saying nothing, he came to sit beside his child, glancing to her once with rain beaded on his muzzle.

she hears her father's approach but does not acknowledge him until he is beside her. the girl gives him a disheartened scowl, nodding toward the gopher hole. he'll understand, right? sometimes prey is elusive. more elusive for her liking, really.

with a sigh, Avicus sinks down on her belly, preparing for a long wait. hungry, she grumbles, and her stomach growls as if in agreement. she knows her parents can feed her, but she wants to catch the meat herself. she knows that small brown creatures are tasty. she knows she can snare, that she can kill.

slowly, she lowers her muzzle onto her paws. watching. waiting. wondering if the one-eyed man will speak or remain silent.

hungry for what? his eye seemed to ask, remembering the little trill of the red-girl's voice when she spoke blood into existence? heartened, charmed, and eager to show avicus the way toward the crunch of bones again, merrick crept closer to the hiding-hole.
he beckoned her closer, slowly, slowly, and silently as she was able. faced by two sets of jaws, the animal might well freeze. and merrick wished no paltry gopher for his kill; he craved the torn throats of wolves whose names remained burned to his mind.
nothing said, only a slow stare shifting to the girl and then back as merrick waited for her quarry to reappear.

there's a question in his eyes, and she gives another nod toward the hole. that, she utters, and lets out a sharp exhale, nostrils flaring. before she can pout further, though, he makes a move, and she follows his lead. her eyes sparkle with the thrill of the hunt.

they wait. and wait. and wait.

and then suddenly, the gopher appears, its torso popping from the earth. it seems not to notice the wolves and begins to clamber outside. that's when Avicus strikes, snapping forward like an eel and seizing the creature's stubby little leg between her teeth.

it flails and shrieks, trapped as it is, trying to wriggle free. for her part, she is slightly stupefied, unsure of what to do next. go for the throat, sure, but that would mean releasing the leg, and what if it gets away—?

his girl struck true, and merrick saw the question in her eyes. he grinned wickedly, torn muzzle reaching delicately to nip another slight limb into his own jaws. 
i'll hold you punch — derelict daddy-daughter time in the shifting earth and the downpour. the creature struggled, but the madman was still, watching avicus with an encouraging expression skimming the surface of his single lantern-orb.
indra
but she was also him
something merrick had drawn from the stiffened corpse of his mother and given new life. but not him at all; it was the passions of the motherbird which had crafted avicus, had they not? merrick knew nothing of these things, only that the girl and her brother intrigued him beyond all measure.

she feels immense gratitude as Merrick pins down another leg, allowing her to release her own and deal the killing blow. they were a team. they made a pretty good team, really. trembling with excitement, she lets go the now-crumpled limb and seizes the gopher's neck in her mouth.

thinking of her mother, of the mountain woman.

squeezing. she is bathed in a torrent of blood, spilling down her throat, her chest. 

eventually, perhaps, she'll learn to deal a quick death, snapping spines between her powerful jaws. but she finds some interest and some enjoyment in feeling the pulse falter, grow slower, the blood ebb from tide to trickle. the gopher, struggling, wriggling, eventually stills.

she—they—are victorious, and she flashes her father a thankful look before tucking into her well-earned meal.

baby child, girl-child, milk-toothed and chubby no longer. she was a killer now, merrick thought with a giddy rush, a killer of small things, a hunter of weaker beings. raised in the image of her father and her mother. 
blood pulsing along small chest and throat, perhaps chin and forelegs, bathing, bathing.
"it's a nice feeling," the man remarked, settling to watch over her as she began to eat. his eyes swept the surrounding land; satisfied there were no threats to the redbird, he lay down nearby, lapping the taste of gopher out of his mouth.

there was that word again— nice, she mumbles through a mouthful of meat, then continues on. her appetite is only growing with time; who knows when (if) it might cease. she gobbles up the gopher, then rises a little unsteadily to her paws, belly distended. she waddles over to her sire and lays down quietly next to him, still cloaked in now-drying blood.

blood, Avicus remarks, and presses her snout to her sternum. it's a unique tang, unlike anything else in the world. it's heady and brings to mind good things. and it matches her russet fur nearly perfectly.

the girl lifts her chin and glances at Merrick, giving him an expression bordering on a smile. it's in her eyes more than in her lips. a feeling of contentment, of trust. she hadn't liked him at the start, but as the moons have progressed, she has found a kind of kinship with the one-eyed man. 

he's a hunter, and so is she. a killer. as is she.

blood.
was it her favorite word? merrick watched the little tanager with the closest expression to fondness he could muster. it felt ungainly upon his face, over-practiced, foreign. a man of masks, but he had scarce worn this one. never, in all reality. never like this. 
something like joy upon her own.
round with meat and warm, nudged against his side, puppybreath metallic with blood. 
"proud." another word for, heavy and cool and round, ready for avicus to pore over and understand.