Wapun Meadow boorish

"ursus. a place of bears." merrick stared at the wording mouth, claws clutching the half-frozen ground with a whisperwind lust knifing into his loins. he could feel it, could feel the inexorable thrum of magnificent anarchy binding them.
was it for that he throbbed now, or for fields? fields of golden wheat churning into the scarlet curve of lips and eyes that drowned merrick; he gulped the blue thankfully. the refractory blow of two events colliding into one another upon a not so distant horizon.
"they tell me they'll do whatever i say," the coywolf breathed. "i know you will already do that."