Bearclaw Valley never bet the devil your head

merrick blinked so that his face became one smooth spread of blackstone as avicus turned her face away from him. her posture apologetic, and he searched the deeper parts of himself to see if he had ever borne her anger.
no, the bearking bid his redcub with a twitch of his torn ears.
while the primal part of merrick was pleased with the fealty of his child, merrick wished she might twist such a respect into its own knife-blade, ready to plunge it between his ribs should he ever betray ursus.
"she went to look for you," the coywolf muttered, eyes narrowed against the fall of flakes. 
she has not yet come back, for it must be always yet and never a sense of finality, for in his breast he knew the blackbird would return to them, and was grounded in it. some ghost of a smile, misplaced and vague. "come back to ursus and wait with me."