Bearclaw Valley bear with me

Ico's quiet lack of fear in favour of experiencing an interesting situation was bordering on the foolhardy — for he should be more afraid of this hulking menace. But there was another reason for his bravery in the smirking face of death: he ran with a pack now, and that pack was the wildest Ico had ever heard of. Sure enough, Merrick was at his side in moments, bristling like a great panther. The youth bowed in deference and admiration, then returned his brown eyes to the threat.

And although much about Santiago Gabriel Arcos was curious and unique, threat was the only word that mattered here. Ico had suffered a lifetime of teasing, and had no pride to quash. But the trespasser could sense a pack growing all around him, so to walk dominantly into its heartland, snap at a pack wolf and laugh in the face of its Alpha was to mean harm and to invite it. Even Ico could understand that.

Two other Ursus warriors emerged with Merrick. The handsome Fields, taller than the river was wide, and Merrick's counterpart: the empirical shadow, Astara. Ico had never seen her up close before.

That she should walk this Earth at all was alarming, for Astara looked more like a symbol than anything else: a symbol of oblivion, necrosis and midnight. And, perhaps, of magic.

To Ico, the three champions descending looked like three comets blazing through the darkling sky.