Bearclaw Valley By yon bonnie banks and by yon bonnie braes,

merrick stared at the beast as it questioned him, not the barest hint of instinct entering its innocent features. but in the next moment, the boy felt mocked; rage choked him and features contorted into a black look that dilated his eyes, sent ragged ears back against his skull.
was it a game the jester wanted? why not let merrick in on the joke, too? games were more fucking fun with as many players as you had.
an eerie croon flowed from merrick's throat, summoning his wolves. his hunters.
and among the echoes he sprang for the creature again, hoping for selfish reasons the message of RUN might click into place.