Bearclaw Valley i've seen their worlds inside my head

no comfort for him; no love for him, nor the bare hope of lust. ulysses had gone, and merrick, while saddened, was more fraught with annoyance. he had stayed away from the densite save for slinking trips here and there. the reddish babe and the dark knew him, but merrick knew not by what name. he abhorred the notion of fatherhood, though from time to time in their clearing he dropped various intriguing things on which they might whet their baby gums.
he found his rook lying glossy beneath the sun with the unearthly little weaklings close at hand. despite the initial urging of his wounded masculinity to stalk past the shelter, the sight of her feral beauty dried his throat and he could not move.
he longed for the darkwater woman, pined for her. unable to stifle himself this time, merrick cut carefully into the clearing, drawing closer toward the place where he had slain his loyal fellow, and pausing there to see if he would be welcome or driven off.