Bearclaw Valley My mind won’t let me rest

Bishop’s cropped ears twitch as much as they’re able to. He shakes his head as another wolf begins padding’s up to him. The loose skin around his face and body flopping about and the chain built into his collar jungles quietly, the sound hardly heard above the rain.

His stunning, crystal blue eyes meet the single eyed gaze of Merrick’s own. Solomon shuffling his feet in the mud. He wants to kill. There’s something wrong inside. In his fucking brain — somethings not right. It’s like a twitch — a scratch he can’t reach until he gives into the white hot desire to kill. This man would help him maybe. Maybe this wolf could help. Oh god, he needs help. 

“Yeah.” He breathes deeply, voice full of such a low base it seems quieter than it really is. “Bishop. Name’s Bishop, wolf.” He introduces with another shake of his droopy head. All this goddamn water going into his ears. “This is your territory. I can tell. I am...” He trails off, crunching his brows in contemplation. “I’m willing to serve and protect for a place to rest my head and gather my strength. I’m good at killing shit.” He adds offhandedly. Not so much as a smile of his droopy face. Though there is a hope in his cerulean hues as he looks to Merrick.