Bearclaw Valley I roam these halls, search the night, in hopes that I might see

A shadow blotted the light from the entrance of the den. Aventus lifted his silver eyes automatically to it, and was surprised to see the subject of his ruminations striding into the den. Merrick was the object of Aventus’ combined fascination and fear, most of the time, a god among mortals. He’d never known his sire to be caring, and didn’t expect him to now.

But Aventus was a product of protective but not necessarily loving parents, and didn’t want sympathy or the soothing embrace of a father. He wouldn't know what that meant. What he did know was hunger, and upon spotting the kill, he realized his was bottomless. The loud growl from his stomach was only drowned out by a slightly louder growl from his jaws at the sight and scent of fresh meat and blood.

Despite his broken ribs and the tight wrap that confined his torso, Aventus practically flew at the stoat, seizing it and practically straddling it in his haste to cram as much food into his mouth as possible while defending it from Merrick, who might snatch it back. It hurt like hell, but he could've swore he never tasted anything so damn good.