Bearclaw Valley distant stars come in black or red.

loyalty had been a great tenet in merrick's life. it felt, as he descended toward the hound with only thoughts of hellfire, the world muted around him, his nightbird's snarling protracted and waved against a backdrop of sound — it felt as though he broke his own edict in one fell swoop.
and for a long flail of endless time, merrick found the truth beneath his tongue, beneath the flare of anger for the agony pulsating through his face: instinct, convoluted and twisted and healing into scar tissue over inner wounds. some force beyond himself, and if merrick had known the word it was projection.
from skin and limb and bone and strap of tendon; he left himself and watched a dark cyclops demon sweep down upon a man near-innocent as the babe he had just saved —
thunder down with full-bore bulletsmoke upon the yielding figure of the dog that had only ever followed merrick, only ever been kind, and at the last had been messiah for the bearwolf's son.
and ursus saw fit the sacrifice there before them.
if astara tore at him he would know it in the next moment; there was only the taste of copper and the interminable grinding of his jaws.
let all of ursus flee now, heed their queen, turn from this horrid place.
merrick did not trust himself.
he could not until it was over and all danger in him had been lanced like poison from the hard blistered surface of his great wrath.
yours is the only forgiveness that is worthwhile.