Bearclaw Valley What good to be a god myself, unless things can touch your heart?

the boy rose; good.

for one so young, his limbs and forepaws suggested a final height far beyond astara's middling own. her gaze dissected karst silently; how much of her rook did he carry, how much would he show?

as he peered at his feet, astara drove a nimble nip at his cheek.

if he was to be ursus, he would be taught the true might of the bear; he would be taught to be a willing footsoldier.