Wapun Meadow Down my thigh

he came back from his trek defeated. merrick could not come away for long; he sensed in the gathering fog a great threat gathering itself against ursus. or was it that this sensation had never abated, never run dry in all these years of living within the valley.
he let out his breath, drifted morosely into the meadow to spray its edges with defiant urine and spear off into the distance with his remaining eye, as if divining avicus from somewhere beyond the line of his vision.
he did not find the relieving familiarity of her scarlet coat; he found sterling and darkblood accents in the narrow foxlike face, some bit of winter lolling across ursus' claimed meadow. the man stalked closer with the expectant air of the protective and the observant, tail arced in a neutral manner while his ragged ears flicked that direction.