Bearclaw Valley chthonic

but there was nothing wrong with this one.
merrick chuckled deeply, lowly, a wraithine smoke that drifted over the struggling, defiant newborn. this child belonged both to him and to whatever dark spirits had formed his perfect raven.
they each did.
his love's blow did not come. merrick dared to put the child back against the other, nestling arachnid body against the roundness of the obsidian brother. something like fondness crossed his gaze and then he was turning away,
not for fear but to hunt, to bring bloody meat to his heart-star's threshhold and guard his newborns with malevolent prowling along all their borders.