Bearclaw Valley her perfume crucified me with memories

indra had hoped dangling the weasel might slow his inquisition, or at the very least, abate his quick wit enough that he lobbed no more questions in her direction. often questions, particularly questions posed by a child, were challenging or disappointing to answer, and gave disappointing answers in return.

merrick pounced on the tattered corpse, eking his first snarl (SO CUTE, MAMA'S LITTLE HOMICIDAL PUPPY) into its' soft pelt. she gave the weasel a hearty yank just as merrick spat fur from his tongue and leveled his mother with another question. indra lowered to the ground and considered her answer carefully, a scheming glint in her eye.

"all kinds of toys." she propped the purloined weasel between her paws, nibbling at a broken limb as if inviting merrick to seize the pelt from her. "but we won't know until he brings them. you'll have to impress him with how well you play with this toy, to see what he brings next."