Moonsong Glacier torn butterfly wings

twice merrick glanced toward the jugular of the jolly man, finding great inner mirth to see with mind's eye this entertainer's blood. sprayed across this ground, this land, this resting place. a humorous spirit tied here to be pet of the melancholy wailer.
merrick's selfishness spared the stranger.
"should i tell you what ghosts look like?" merrick seethed in a pleasant chuckle. his voice, contoured. young, even, despite the latticework of wolf's-teeth upon his face, his ears, his chest.