Bearclaw Valley And all the good you've done / Will soon get swept away.

the stone tumbled through grass, with a dark blur of black quick upon it.

astara emerged from the brush with a victorious crow of triumph, muzzle high and gaze limned with boastful contempt -- expecting at any minute, the red marauder would come for his treasure.

only, he was held at bay by merrick; her dark, beautiful, violent merrick who encircled him like a shark...

astara kept her jaws tight, her muzzle higher.

were her teeth not occupied by the high value trinket, she might have found his flesh. she might have pulled skin from his skull, raked teeth down his ribcage, shook him again and again until his orange body was red with a far more ominous color -- so bent was astara's hate for this man that had wronged her.

she halted, eyes dark and on merrick with malevolent excitement.

he did not need ears, nor a mind-reader's intuition for the command which sprung from her eyes:

kill him.