Wapun Meadow learning that i’m deserving of love and the peaceful heart

merrick watched her move toward the glistening ribbon of water, eyes boring through the veil of snow that settled gently upon his coat. 
indra.
in her body he had been held; he gazed with mingled longing and disdain upon the far-flung vision of her russet figure, for he had never forgotten her form, her scent, the expression of her eyes. within merrick, some small child cried, and he closed his eyes tightly, tightly, before turning his gaze to the shadow at his side.
they had ventured from the nightwalkers under guise of fulfilling vengeance's ideal, and now the boy drew a thin breath and began down into the meadow, now touched with early frost. mice, gathering the last seeds to be found, scattered beneath his broad paws, but merrick had eyes only for ever-steady form of indra.
indra indra indra in —
"mother," the boy breathed when he and his companion had drawn within earshot. 
the wings of a caged bird fluttered dully in the narrow, boyish chest, and merrick was surprised to find tears welling within his eyes. but they were not for the relief of a new greeting, nor the chastisment of his mother for having left; 
rage burned behind his gaze and drove the last of the waters forth, so that his cheeks grew wet even as he offered indra a small smile that forgave all her transgressions against him.
she reeked of the original sin, his birth.
how he pined for her so in this moment.