Stone Circle vittorio

merrick recognized her from a distance, her aloof, proud gait and the set of her head. so like indra's, so like her sister's that the boy fought hard the curl of his lip and the clench of his throat.
"hello, auntie," merrick purled, straightening beneath her opaque scrutiny of him. laurel looked older, features deepened by age and stress and time.
he wanted to tell her she looked like shit, slam her head against the hardpacked snow again and again and again and again and
but it wouldn't have been the truth. to his one burning eye, auntie laurel looked mostly the same, for she too was one of his ghosts, old features blurred by unconcern.
only his mother's face continued to stand out in stark, unadulterated relief, an HD video merrick replayed behind his eyelids during the nights when even exhaustion and astara's lust could not put him to sleep. 
had she found indra where he'd left her to lay in the elk meadow? did laurel somehow know? she was not excited to see her nephew, but the boy did not care. he cared only that she might find him out before his grand adventure had begun.
merrick searched her features openly.