Wapun Meadow I let my brother go to the devil in his own way.

in the days that passed, merrick had turned his baleful gaze upon easthollow. the wolves of bearclaw would grow fat and bored if he did not give them something to do, and for the present, the pack where laurel resided was as good as any.
mouth sewn into a grim line, merrick lowered his muzzle outside the valley, picking up the changing traces of astara's scent. his blackbird — he tried not to think of it. 
now a grey-smudged shadow silhouetted against the dying light of the day. in silence merrick approached slowly, shadows darkening him to a vulture with a shard of topaz set in his face.