Bearclaw Valley chthonic

that first taste of violence was sweet; an appetizer for the child created to feed on war.

war —


interrupted! thwarted! the changeling shrieked a protest at the feeling of prickling nape and only air beneath tiny voidspun paws, limbs wheeling for a fraction of a second. then, an uncanny stillness, a focus all too evasive to the typical newborn.

asperas was not a typical newborn.

angular limbs found the ground again, needle-claws flexing into the dirt. the unchild waited, tense, filled with rage for he who would dare play god to the fateweaver. another touch, the spongy feel of a nose — and asperas lashed out, muzzle wrinkled, mouth stretched wide and shaped in an 'o' as puppy mouths were wont to do. in the spiderling's mind, the assault included teeth. in reality, the child could only aggressively gum the wolf that would one day become father, with a side of few futile smacks by graceless paws.

for now, merrick was only an insolent oaf, a sacrilegious lout seeking his own death. nevermind that he was many times greater in size than asperas. nevermind that he possessed the pointed protrusions the unchild so coveted, the tools of death that the shadow would one day find pride in.

for now, he was only one of many false gods asperas would encounter as she grew —

and as with all the rest, she was determined to cast him down.