Bearclaw Valley corpseweave [m]

The stranger fled up the hill to where Bearclaw Valley opened up into the meadow. The two wolves no longer pursued, but those silver eyes tracked the man with the same fervency up and out until he disappeared over a crest. A pity they had not spilled blood here today.

Aventus huffed and turned to Merrick, ears cupping over his slender brow. I agree, he said. No more Ashlars. No more Tuurs. No more cowards. It was an affront to the bear to allow such pitiful dogs to share their land. Ursus must be better than that. He thought momentarily about himself as a child — frightened of his father and what he must become, but bound to the faith no matter which way he turned — and then banished it. It did not matter. He had been forced to become stronger, and it was a good thing.

What were you doing? he asked, glancing at the streaks of red that brightly outlined every print his father left in the snow, at the ring of it cooling under his pad even as they spoke.