Bearclaw Valley her perfume crucified me with memories

fleeting as the expression was, indra caught it: the ghost of an approving look, thin and insufficient and gone quickly as it was caught, like liquid falling through a sieve or the passing of a brittle shadow on the wind. in silence the beta watched the smoky male's departure.

already merrick had flung himself upon the offering, worrying it with little teeth and fretting its naturally smooth fur. indra eyed the glossy figure and then gave merrick a gentle nudge with her muzzle. "it's a weasel - food, or a toy, or both. your choice."