Bearclaw Valley till so many decades had passed

eyes upon him, inscrutable and distant as those of her dam. merrick was looking into them now, having picked his muzzle up from the pleasant earth. enthralled, chilled, merrick stared toward the child in silence. she scrutinized him, and he saw all the thousand little ways she had grown from blind grub to something keen and wolfish.
the witch did not approach, nor did he move from his place; his single eye probed her stoic features for an endless moment before merrick lay himself back down again.
a casual gesture, but in his heart the sickening glut of knowledge, good and evil poached like poison from the side of an apple.