Bearclaw Valley Ain't it a gentle sound, the rolling in the graves

val did as he was told, though he thought of stryx and the otherworldly pain she’d caused him. he wished to hear these words spoken by a woman — but not in this context, being cared for like a handicapped impotent.

a flicker of something — shyness perhaps — crossed val’s expression as he felt the intimacy of wet moss applied to his nose.

he noted the way she moved, gingerly and as if haunted by pain. why aren’t you taking care of yourself first? val felt, of all the wolves in ursus, his needs were least imperative. he was of no importance to the bear.