Mudminnow River it will break my heart to go against your wishes [m]

abhorrence was a liqueur that flushed through merrick as he ground to a halt and watched the familiar figure stutter to her own. something hung from laurel's jaws, something given a cursory once-over and dismissed. the bearwitch stood saw-edged and glowering, a slight wind buffetting the filth-stiffened raise of his hackles.
astara waited beside him. merrick turned his gaze just until he could see the curve of her throat; the set of her jaw. he did not glimpse her eyes as he faced front again; he did not need to see them to know that the blackbird's gaze would hold a stunning and resolute ferality.
thus encouraged, merrick cleared his throat;
flexed mud in the paws of the riverbank;
approached one two three four five; steps, and no more. his was not an advance of war; it was the rangy, casual step of a wolf who has seen a relative and wishes to bring them greeting of their kind. but that which he bore for laurel was only the deranged and incensed glitter of his single eye. 
merrick's laughter rang out, bold and bright and bedlamite;
he put his head to one side and looked with open desire at the way his teeth had torn her flesh. 
not so close — closer
he held himself reined, tail arched upon his hips and lips swiped with tongue;
"i killed them, you know. the first day i had them."
his breath hitched in his throat; he waited for her response, and whether or not laurel fell to her mother's heart and mother's grief, rushing the bearwolf; 
his own legs braced for what he certainly anticipated;
"before they died, they denounced you as their mother and asked the bear to save them."