Bearclaw Valley When you come long like an island

pandora's face loomed before him, roseate and pearled with amusement;
yes, she was indeed beautiful, and any man would have had his blood stirred by her a thousand moments ago.
but merrick was no longer a man: he was a shroud, a tattered veil encapsulating lungs that hardly wished to breathe and a heart that hardly wished to thrum.
"yes, pandora."
his face was impassive as her gentle scent wreathed to dispel the untamed cloud of his own.
"i would want you to be the lovely dust through which the bear's purpose is worked."
he straightened and pulled away from her kill; he left it where it lay and set off back into the primeval forest, expecting that pandora would follow the twitch of his ragged shoulders.