Bearclaw Valley death note

his single eye fell to the soaked alabaster pelt of the witch who had given much to ursus. it was not grief merrick experienced, but a dizzying spark of violence; it choked him, clawed at his throat.
the lopsided gaze shifted to his silent wraith; her muzzle and the inexorable, unflinching blaze of feral melonii wrath directed his own toward 
easthollow.
they had never come for a parley.
their wolves had clashed with those of ursus, as was the way, but now
death, and all the justifications for vengeance that followed.
merrick would follow the incensed corvid in whatever she meant to do next.