Bearclaw Valley you will never get to heaven.

the earth, yawning, its throat widened and spitting the grime-caked body with its crumbles of earth back into existence. merrick's ragged ears strained atop his skull.
he did not approach; he would allow this rebirth, but the dizzy spectacle brought him low. and so the boy crouched, watched elbow over paw over slithering rawboned body as the corpse infused with newest air and stumbled ghostly and half-dead into the eyesight of the one who had come to crack her bones, splinter the ends, lick marrow from her scapulas.
scarce, mouth dry; single eye roaming over each detail he might drink.