Bearclaw Valley till so many decades had passed

the scent of blood on baby's breath churned something like nausea in merrick. pinprick dot in the center of his eye, slowly widening as the autumnfall of her pelt filled his vision
mama
piping voice threatening boyishly at the back of his throat
hunger of a deeper need seated in his marrow.
"dead," merrick managed to garble in response, unable to tear himself from the unconscious command of this small being. bones would snap between his jaws, beneath his foot; and yet the thought of such was fading, fading.
"blood," the coywolf whispered, lifting his chin as a slithering grin flickered to life upon his scarred lips. "blood."