Bearclaw Valley We started livin’ in an old house

Bishop watches the scarred male for a few moments with great anticipation. His glacial eyes are intense like Merrick has the power to solve this mess. He doesn’t though and that’s the worst part. He wants Merrick to just fix him, but he knows he can’t — no one can. 

Then Merrick is flicking that single eyed stare up to his twitching ears. He’s moving back and Bishop is glad that he is. Just in case. Not that he doesn’t want to be close to the bear king, but he just doesn’t want to hurt him. Besides, he’s sure the coy would be able to run from him anyway if push really did come to shove. Still, unintentionally, the gesture hurts — it’s necessary though and they both know it.

So his short cropped ears flick backwards in shame, but he keeps his eyes on Merrick as he speaks. His words cut just as deep as the knife that stabbed him — as the bullets that pierced his pelt and shredded his muscle. Yet, again, he knows  it’s necessary. Merrick has given him a purpose — a mission — and once he completes it, he would come back to them.

He nods his giant head once. “I will do as you command.” He rumbles back softly. He’s a mutt anyway, he’s meant to follow orders. “Perhaps it will help me.” Then he pauses. “May I come back? If I get better?” It’s almost a plea. He wants to know he still has a home somewhere at least.