Bearclaw Valley her perfume crucified me with memories

naturally, no token of gratitude bubbled from her little tyrant's lips. an unapologetic smile stole from her features: her child, already emotionally tall as any tree and nary a few months old. he would make a proper wolf, once fully grown -- indra's eyes seemed to flash with something akin to quiet pride as she glanced upon merrick and his new prize.

she canted her muzzle in approval to the little devil, turning to to her packmate who had up until then regarded her son silently. "what he means is 'thanks'." indra would not chastise merrick - for he was royalty in bearclaw; his cousins were royalty, his aunt their leader, and his mother a close second occupying beta's rung. indra had no plans to raise a mousey, quiet whelp. it had been her mistake to be timid, to fearfully watch the world through wide doe-eyes. merrick would have no such experience on this green plane: indra would teach him to take what was rightly his, before it was taken from him.