Bearclaw Valley rolling in and caught again

over time her path intersected with merrick's. the scent fresh, the direction deliberately opposite. astara deduced this with a narrowing of her purple gaze, her lips pursed.

so, he was angry with her. let him nurse in his own foibles of attaching his worth to something living and breathing; astara knew her self-worth was implicitly her own to govern, and sniffed bitterly at the rift that had risen between them.

she dared not mark over merrick's scent, but she did not make her passing unnoticed either. for every mark he deposited, astara left her own alongside it -- entwining their scents in serpentine, over and over until the valley was riddled with evidence of their claim.