Bearclaw Valley i can’t help being a gorgeous fiend

the thorns bit deeper into his flesh. "fuck," the boy grunted, ripping himself from the briar-patch in time to hear orson's gentle sound. "hey, you," the young coywolf grinned, leaving tufts of his pelt on the jagged teeth. "shit patch of land right here. maybe it needs a name."
merrick, all jokes. merrick; no mention of the thing he had done, the wicked thing that still woke him from feverish sleep in the night and plagued him with the closest thing to guilt he had ever felt. a blink. "tell me what you've been up to, orson."