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

indra indra mother indra mother indra indra mother mom mom
his paws beat out the rhythm upon the earth, which still danced beneath them; at one point, a great crack sounded, and merrick drew up his chase as a venerable spruce tree was felled almost across his path.
the impact fired the boy more fiercely; his teeth ground together as he picked out the marks left by indra's flight.
she could not escape. she could not get away with it again.
soon her straining flanks came into view; the boy fancied the lengthy muscles of her thighs had shuddered in the same way during his unwitting expulsion into the waking world. but he had slid from her corrupt; she had created him so. there could be no forgiveness, no mercy.
astara hunted alongside him, and their ravenings entwined: he for the blood of the mother, she for the end of a creature who had caused merrick pain. whatever agonies he had suffered were buried with each lash of the shadow after their quarry.
had he not stalked this very meadow in his all-but-forgotten childhood? merrick knew the rock, the earth, the fading plants, and wended his way after indra with a singular focus.
his stride grew longer; he coursed after the running woman, drawing up to her hindquarter; merrick swerved to deliver a crippling snap to her hamstring, to torment her as the stench of fear rolled off indra, mingled with sorrow for her lost son.