Fairspell Meadow lucifer bleeds ichor

there was no home with the nightwalkers, only the general protection offered to yearlings without a pack. merrick’s succor had always been astara; where he went, so did the shadow. bonded, unyielding, malleable only to one another.
but even she left him empty as of late, unable to bridge the great chasm that had opened within merrick upon the taste of indra’s blood. he had not slept; he spent his days hunting for what meat could be found, wanting endlessly to be alone in the cold halls of his suffering mind.
there was but one way to regain hope.
the moon was soon to began its ascent, and merrick too had paused between the tall dry stalks to gaze heavenward. in another time, a world that felt so greatly removed from who it was now wore his name, merrick had loved the stars.
copperlight gaze silently identified the constellations taught to him by terance in his youth, and for a single trembling moment, the yearling felt a glissade of hopeful wanting.
it was obscured by the sound of gentle footsteps not far beyond merrick; dark ears swiveled, thrust, and his breathing cadenced as the hunt began again, as he began to press through the meadowgrass in search of what was beyond, a stalk endowing his thinning legs.