Fox's Glade i’ll dig her up tonight

-- and he will not learn the feeling, in physicality nor moral weight, of spilling another's lifeblood today. When his jaws meet the coordinates of his aim, his target turns to empty space, and when Merrit rises, the heathen is already gone, ragged tail streaming through the glade like an overgrown rat.

And Merrit would follow, if not for knowing the parasite's escape must, in turn, mean that somewhere along the way, Arlette had lost her grip. He turns in a tight circle, midnight fur all on end, and sea-stung eyes sharp with unspeakable intensity -- and all the more, when his gaze falls upon his sister and the broken bits of another.

"Arlette," his breath hitches when he sees her scars, but he has little time to dwell on the questions they raise; when he turns to face the scene, his racing mind connects the name his sister spoke with those neutral scraps of fur that wilt from the other's corpse like late September flowers.

No.

He clunks forward on trembling legs, the only motion in his tense robotic crawl, and when he reaches them, he is silent but his mind is screaming. Uncontrollable, anguished and pained, while his thin mouth runs entirely silent. He looks upon his brother with brows drawn and a face as hard as the stone he will soon be buried under.

I don't mind wrapping up here and starting something new in EH unless you want to do one more round!