Bearclaw Valley rum. bring a bottle of it.

Merrick’s voice was a thunderclap, and the heavy paw descending upon Aventus was the storm’s hammer. He was pressed into the wet earth and for a second or two, thought his lungs would burst under his sire’s pressure. The man’s voice was a snarl in his son’s ears, amplified by fear.

But Merrick didn’t snuff him out. He let him up, moving away from dead deer and son alike with a cheerful remark. Aventus remained prone for several heartbeats, silently gulping breath and committing the lesson to memory. Then he rose and tailed after his father with his head and tail lowered.

Good to fade here, or can keep going if you prefer!