Bearclaw Valley her perfume crucified me with memories

by all accounts, merrick was a swiftly growing, if not colicky child. the chagrin of his birth had left him rather prone to stomach upsets, but they were mild and did not deter the boy from his detailed exploration of the world into which he had been born. in only a vague way had he noticed the disappearance of the older children, taken off by lauren to a rendezvous site — it left for the rotund cub more space.
presently, however, as dawnlight began to lighten the dark-layered details of his mother and her body within the den, merrick hovered near the entrance, quietly fascinated. it had happened many times before, but today it brought him a strange confidence. and when the sun had brightened until its warmth could be felt, fat little merrick toddled out of doors, planted his forepaws, and began a yipping and cacophonous howl by which he meant to call down the sun.