Silvertip Mountain the songs are all the same

he had heard of the transpiring in their woodland, the fate of spirits overhead.
merrick had not missed how the bloodfire in his tiny spiderweave daughter had faded.
he had always taken it for a truth that she had been touched by the bear, and apophis too. but to hear it!
chills trailed the length of his hackles.
he saw his unchild as a pathway through which the might of ursus could speak, a vessel already attuned.
a rabbit raised its patchwork ears too soon above the nearby grass.
merrick swept after, unthinking, and captured it writhing and screaming. a bear-blessed snap.
he carried it back, and dropped it beneath the too-soon stolen flatness of the bearling's eyes.
"he gave you the capacity to kill."
the rabbit's pupil dilated with horror.