Bearclaw Valley Like the generations of leaves, the lives of mortal men.

All he had was his brother — past or present. They had entered the world together, lost their mother together, fought against the indignities of the other children together. Perhaps that was why he had left to hunt him down — so they could at least die together, if the new frigidity of the world decided that for them. Yet he was here, and the brother was not.

The shadow moved from his side and Karst became acutely aware of that absence, keening in to the wind with his own mournful call; but then Merrick came back and bestowed upon him a frozen fish.

Hungry as Karst was, he tended to this gift tenderly, with warm laps of his tongue across the fish-sicle. He stopped when Merrick spoke truth. Without saying anything else he gingerly grappled with the head of the fish and stood up with it hanging awkwardly from the side of his mouth.

A punitive nod. Karst's head sank lower than his shoulders and he began to walk again — to follow Merrick lethargically along. The fish scales melted with the humidity of his mouth and the sour flavor of it turned his stomach.