Bearclaw Valley don’t get lost in heaven, they got locks on the gates

this time, merrick stayed near.
he paced the rivenstone hallways of ursus; he prayed before the altar, he stalked and stalked and stalked near the denmouth.
ursus was silent, and none dared approach him, neckspun into tall spikes that promised agony for any who drew near.
in the black night he searched aimlessly for his red girl, who had never come back. and while he did not avoid the trail of his rogue-son, merrick would not tolerate him near — not yet.
teeth turned to sister might now turn toward newborn.
had he himself not almost killed aventus the hour of his birth?
he chanted to the bears until scarred lips were numb, until the light came and the den was silent.
the powerful loneliness descended upon him, crushing; he snuck closer, and closer still; slipping to belly.
no blood to baptize these ones, the cunning terrible dragons'-head of their sire looming over them, braving his weary blackbird's motherteeth to stare down at a round son and a child born of the god he did not know; the old ones that beat in the corvid's blood.
merrick laughed, the rustle of dry leaves.