Bearclaw Valley what mysteries we are

the glutglee gaze  –  "far too magnanimous, you are,"
and then the taste of hide and flesh and iron and marrow; the squelch of splintering bone; the squeal of mothwing-thin tendon; altogether some concerto as the obsidian rook hewed with fang through the left second of fore-toe;
finishing off by plucking it from the clawtip and dangling it for the bruinboy with some coy, grotesque gaiety; wicked arch of winged brows unfurling imploringly:  where might i offer this?

a bit sniffle-nosed, a bit filmy-eyed; but it was a weakness that this mortal vessel could not help, she supposes.