Bearclaw Valley You're on your own

merrick had sat himself down, and listened to ashlar with strands of humour and interest unfurling across his battle-bit expression. he certain had not lied about his affinity for the musical; the shy wolf's voice was modulated and beauteous, spiraling out overtop the ancient trees.
"bravo," the bearwitch purred when the song had ended. "'sing to the sky shades of garnet.' i enjoy that." cryptic now his cylops-stare. a bard in war, ashlar would find himself. ear flicked. "you are quick with words."