Bearclaw Valley There is nothing more lonely than an action taken quietly on your own

He felt the flush of pride across his face and down his neck when Merrick acknowledged him, and fought to keep an unbidden smile from twisting his lips. It was too soon after Evien's death for smirking and celebrating, he felt, but as his sire commanded, he would obey.

A hunt, he could handle. It wasn't his forte, had always been his sister's domain, but that wasn't to say he was hopeless at it. He could hunt as well as any within the valley, perhaps better than some, but worse than Avicus. Nevertheless, no son of Merrick and Astara would ever go hungry from lack of skill in killing, and he streaked along after his father when they began to move. He lifted his voice to join Merrick's, a lower and quieter sound intent on bolstering the Bruin-witch rather than drowning him out.

The crazed idea of hunting an Easthollow straggler crossed his mind, so strongly that he nearly turned toward the meadow where they might be found, but the faltering was brief. Plenty of prey to be had in the valley, and plenty of time for hunting Easthollow curs later.