Bearclaw Valley her perfume and her rum

once, merrick might have doubted his son, have suspected him in some way of wishing to take the helm of ursus before his father was ready to surrender it. the loss of avicus had struck him harshly; in some ways, merrick had not been the same.
his fault, yes;
"yes," he echoed, feeling no loss of confidence in aventus now. "the bear was wise to choose you for this." to have given the young rogue a true royal mother of night's intrigue; aventus, reared first in her image and then given to the ursine spirits that had deserted the valley.
but they had not left ursus, and merrick saw this clearly as fresh-blooded pathways: they had only motioned to come onward.
"i do not need to tell you to be careful." quick jerk of the ragged lips into some rictus of humour. "i will tell you that hesitating to kill will only end in your death."
a lesson the bruin-jaw had learned once, but merrick would say it again.