Silvertip Mountain sun in the bloodied hand

merrick licked his torn lips. "and what would you say?"
there was but one path forward. but ashlar had steadied at last, and so the lantern had turned down some of its fire.
the boy was the most resistant clay to be molded. but he had not left, not through scorn nor fang.
merrick drew a breath. "come with me."
high time that ashlar knew how exactly the bear spirit compelled peacekeeping in ursus.