Bearclaw Valley Where I Like to Keep My Heart

a wolf at his door. merrick cocked his wartorn head, gathered himself up from where he had gone to nest in a windfall of leaves. the crushed pieces clung here and there to his coat, and it was a half-wrapped cyclops that peered at the silvergrey as merrick melted from around their standing-rock and stood before her.
a metallic siren with sunlit eyes. the potential of a lurking spirit that called to his own innate bleakness; the bear-witch licked his jaws and strode closer. "to what do i owe this pleasure?"