Bearclaw Valley rum. bring a bottle of it.

Merrick did not go alone.

Aventus was drawn awake first by the sky's crackle, then the pounding of rain, more of a whisper than the booming voice of the storm. He extricated himself with care from a tangle of limbs, leaving Astara and Avicus asleep as he poked his head curiously into the rain. He was quick enough to spot the one-eyed Bruin-witch leaving.

It wasn't in Aventus' nature to oppose the will of Ursus' dragon, lest Merrick's terrible wrath be turned upon him. Thus far, no such thing had happened to support his fear, but the blood in his veins sang of his father's fearsome nature. It was a part of him. Ordinarily, he wouldn't set a single toe out of line where his sire was concerned. But the gusting wind and the grumbling clouds made small sounds become silent, and the darkness of it all emboldened him. He was small. He was black. He wouldn't be seen or heard.

So Merrick trotted out into the storm, and Aventus came scrambling defiantly after him, believing he was as silent as a mouse and invisible in the dark, even if he wasn't.