Bearclaw Valley My mind won’t let me rest

"the rain, the rain, the fucking rain!" merrick crowed to himself, slipping in the mud and slamming his shoulder into a pine. balefully his single eye stole about, ensuring he had not been seen, and then the blackbird prowled on. "perfect!" he growled; already his muscle throbbed with the pressure. 
the silent woman — not his silent woman, merrick wished to clarify for no one in particular — had been killed by the rook. a gambit. checkmate. her brood, therefore, having been given as gifts to the witch, were now beneath his care. or perhaps not his, but all the same, they were part of ursus. and so they would remain.
a garbled attempt at a howl rising in the rain; his ragged ear-and-a-half twitched with intrigue. ignoring the sting of his flesh, the valley dweller trotted forward, winding between the ancient trees until he came upon the caller: a beast far larger than himself, cut with bands of muscle, and distinctly un-wolf in appearance
fraser
not now now that
"are you lost?" merrick teased, but the firelit interest in his cyclops'-gaze is tangible.