Wapun Meadow boorish

ur post was fantastic

poor merrick. poor merrick; oh he pitied himself and the silent bear voice and the gods that had led him to find laurel, only to have his blood rebuff him as though she too could see the tarnishing of his soul. oh, poor me poor me fuck me; his breath feathered out as one-eyed gaze alit upon a figure within his world.
tongue rubbed the ridges of sheathed teeth. can't all be bad, merrick decided with a gleeful cast that flit across his face and then was gone. but he turned his steps toward the stranger all the same, bold and bold and boldly made by the fragrance of bearclaw, of his wolves, of ravenous astara in her full-fledged fire.
he said nothing, only allowed the single eye to rove openly in its socket while torn ears flickered atop his head. who was this fair young god come into his house? a smirk.