Bearclaw Valley it's whatever you say it is

Despite the great broadness of the valley beyond, everything felt very enclosed right now as Ico sat here low-down in this private space with two tall somebodies, two mysterious characters in a dark, dark tale. To get to the beyond, Ico had to focus on their enclosure. The most titanic stories could be contained in the smallest moments.

Ico's instinct was actually to explain that he, little Ico, couldn't kill at all. He was too fragile, too cowardly, and too sweet. A five-month old could flatten him in a wrestling match, an eight-year-old could outweigh him in a hunt. Despite the flattering attention of the black King and his Rook, the white Pawn recalled that he was too useless to move far.

But Merrick knew that. He was shadowy and poisonous, but far from dim. He could see that Ico was not a powerhouse. He was asking for theory.

I can invision killing to save another life, a better life. Ico had to imagine it, because he'd never yet cared about anyone enough to try and kill (perchance to die) for them. And to uphold values. Values that give the ruthless world more order. Or at least more meaning.

As for how...

Surely now was not the moment for humour... surely... and yet Ico felt the smallest smile flutter briefly onto his face, and his tight, fearful heart lighten for a fleeting moment as he proposed —

With bears?