Bearclaw Valley And I'll be in Scotland afore ye

here was the pretty boy that had caught merrick's eye.

astara watched him roll in the dirt with hate in her eyes. who the fuck was he to take her spot by merrick? she had half the mind to pounce him while his soft belly was exposed -- turn all that precious silver fur into something ugly red...

she stalked closer, realizing this was not ulysses, but some other mongrel -- the reedy lurchhound that merrick had taken under-wing.

torn between backing off  or continuing, astara froze -- her earlier intentions every bit exposed as the hound rose from the damp loam. fixing him with a careful glare, astara studied the wiriness of his pelt and the alien shape of his ears -- what had deformed him so?