Bearclaw Valley goodness is eternally difficult

The frightful spell was broken. Merrick pulled away and Aventus wobbled a little at the abrupt removal of his father's wrist from his backside. The liquid that offended his sire continued to leak out of him until his bladder was fully spent, pooling under him and wetting his bottom. Discomfort begged that he move, but he was held in thrall by the dragon's eyes, similarly to how Merrick was held in place despite wanting to depart.

At length, Aventus flattened himself to the earth, sullying the downy fur on his belly as well as his bum with the urine-soaked dirt, but not caring in the slightest. His tiny muzzle found the ground between his equally tiny forepaws and he pressed himself down into a humble, supplicating pancake. Instinct bid him do this, along with wriggling his tail where it tightly hugged his hindquarters—Merrick was superior.

Merrick was God to Aventus, and God was wrath.