Bearclaw Valley sickness

the weakest babe. wormfood eventually, the mother was sure of it. it almost felt a waste to continue nursing her. let the bigger children get a chance to grow and mature and breed and split her bloodline into channels of equally mighty currents.

but then the maggot-coloured thing would weep again, a sound especially grating coming from one so unworthy of life. the little milksucker wouldn't let her sleep, oh she was sure of it, and she couldn't afford such a thing.

her dreams were forming a shape. the outlines could be seen, and if she could just focus a little bit more, take another of her dwindling supply of herbs and fungi, she could feel what message was it that the Bear was conveying to her.

for what other god would bother with a cheated mother in her hovel.

the woman didn't move her muzzle, deep in thought, and so the unexpected touch of her infant daughter made her head rise and pull away as if the pink paws were clawed.

her disgust was conveyed in the further wrinkling of her muzzle, the way her lips twitched to show stained teeth.

maggot-child.