Bearclaw Valley her perfume crucified me with memories

merrick Did Not mean Thank You, and whirled on his mother with a huffing glance. however, his attention snapped back to the bloodied man as quickly as it had been diverted. but stigmata was turning away; merrick watched with equal raptness until their packmate had disappeared from view. now his focus belonged to himself; he pounced upon the weasel and worried it with his needleteeth.
dragging it proudly back to indra, he deposited it at her paws, haunches swaying with the force of his tail's waves. "what dis is, mahmee?" the boy chirped, glancing between the ragged pelt and his mother's face with an expectant look.