Bearclaw Valley verbena

Ico might've blushed when told he was not silly, as if to have an insult contradicted was to be complimented. To Ico, it was. Merrick was a rather otherworldly being in his eyes, and to be perceived by him with an inkling of respect was to be seen in a whole new light. And Merrick was right; Ico had joined Ursus not just to survive but to give and receive stories. Yes some might be a little mad, but Hatters weave a ripping yarn.

When asked if he heard the bears, Ico looked around subtly as he walked, slender ears a-twitching. And no, he couldn't hear them... though sometimes he could smell them, and once he thought he saw one in the reflection of the river. But hang on, Merrick had not asked an empirical question.

When I think of the bears, I hear you, he admitted, and it was true. More than any bear, Merrick was the soul he associated most with the ursine. And I think mystery in this case is no bad thing. It's like my ancestor said — the woman who'd absorbed the spirit of the elder — for all her knowledge, she said she knew not what lay beyond life's curtain. Only that immortality is possible through the passing of spirits... and I think it's possible through the passing of stories too. If another were to share the story I've told, why, she could live forever.