Mudminnow River small sacred kisses

he supposed if nunataq could do it, he could also.
truth be told, there was little reason merrick had not yet strayed beyond the borders, but now he departed the hollow as he if he had done it a thousand times before. the scent of muddied water was in the air, but with it the silken oil-scent of a beast he did not yet recognize, and the musk the boy did know to be raccoon.
beneath nightfall as always, which was when merrick preferred to do his moving, he tracked both threads to the frozen, silt-banked river, and stood watching the clear surface for a while, lifting his dark muzzle to peer around into the night. the hollow was still visible, at his back, but suddenly merrick felt terribly naked.