Bearclaw Valley my sad soul forgot its pride

merrick bent to drink and then looked toward indra. in the light she was filthy, matted. she stank of the bones and the dark and the ash. the bearwolf said nothing to her. he turned back to his drinking and filled the hollow places of his flanks.
eventually he lifted his head. droplets fell and froze. "the bear chooses those who are worthy."
his single eye danced over indra.
"are you worthy?"