Bearclaw Valley distant stars come in black or red.

but it was her right, too -- to motherhood, to offspring. somewhere in that distant realm of slumber dissonance began to fray the edges of her dreams.

a warbling cry woke her. astara's indigo eyes flew open and beheld the bent shape of her bear, a specter with a stirring babe lodged in his mouth.

a primordial urge older than the sky rise within her breast. she found the fur along her hackles rising as she met merrick head on, boring into his gaze with a lift of her lips -- disregarding the healer as he came questioningly upon the scene.

it was just her and him -- blackbird and blackbear -- as it should have been. as it would have been, if he had not sown seed within her fields. if he had not collected his trinkets and admirers around him while his blackbird was jostled to the side...

the nightshade had not forgotten merrick's words those months past -- now he was come to collect his due. if she reeked of motherhood, he was the monster that had instilled such changes within her. he reeked of fatherhood -- of sowing rifts and misery. of challenge, strife, and unaccountability.

not for the first time did the blackbird stare her bear down, her lips creased in a silent snarl full of command. she did not wish to strike him, but strike him true she would if he gave her no other choice. they were hers -- maybe not to love or adore -- but hers all the same.