Bearclaw Valley ghost of a monster child

As the grim proceedings unfolded like a horror story, Ico subconsciously moved an inch back and then another inch, until he was no longer standing beside Toad but mostly behind him. The wide-eyed Chronicler peered beyond Toad's mottled brown shoulder, the view mercifully half-obscured; but not so much that he couldn't see what was happening. And hear it. And smell it. And feel it.

Ico had met the little Bearberries before — he'd even told the boy one a merry little story of adventure and ambition. But now Ico felt like a child himself, tremulous and fearful, as the actual puppies were summoned forward by Merrick and approached with such fascination in their eyes. They did not know it, but these younglings had chained Ico to Ursus, for Merrick had told him to sweep his family away to safety should the patriarch be struck down by fate.

Now Ico could see this wretched promise in context. He could not tear his gaze from the bloodbath, but he perceived a general aura of respect, anticipation and curiosity from most present. This contrasted so much with Ico's feelings that he felt as if he were drowning. Even if a mad, warring chaos should envelop this pack in its entirety, Ico was far too slight to make any kind of forceful attempts at saving the puppies, but more importantly — they would not want to go. Avicus and Aventus were children of madness, children of war, children of chaos. Ico could see that now.

But most of all he could see Merrick. Merrick, the ragged leader who, for one moment by the river, had opened up to Ico and seemed earnestly fearful that his own bloody ways would bring death to his house. And here he was; purposefully making that happen. Slaughtering an outsider for all to see. Making enemies like a cloud makes rain. Waving his red, red flag; come and get me, world. Come and kill my family.

As Merrick coated those babies in a cascade of blood, the joyous howl that followed seemed to start a wildfire in Ico's heart, and it spread rapidly, painfully, filling him from ears to tailtip. He quickly realised that by now he had backed away so much that the scene was barely visible any more, and he himself was partly obscured by elm trees. Either it was raining again, or his vision was obscured by tears.

The ivory wolf turned into those trees and ran — then ran faster still. He tried to block out the sound of that harrowing howl, but it filled his entire skull, and continued to echo and echo for miles to come, even as he crossed the border and didn't slow.

Ico fled.