Bearclaw Valley those lions are coming, oh they're coming.

the bear spirit whispered, but merrick did not hear. his anguished stare subsumed every detail of caiaphas' failing body, every stilted movement, the rasp of her words.
she drew from him, and for a moment the boy was angered, his grief frothing to crush him anew. but she was correct; she had never been wrong in the short time that he had known the seawitch.
ever reluctant, the young wolf untangled himself from her stiff thin limbs but could not bring himself to back away; he crouched near in a tearstained hunch.
death to those who had brought them both so low, but it was the spectre of darkness that hovered with consuming desire near the old woman's wasting frame.
was he doomed to have all he loved leave him in some way? merrick swallowed, a sob twisting his handsome features. "i will," he whispered hoarsely in answer to caiaphas' proclamation, lowering himself to the frozen earth as she could not now rise from it.
i will die; oh, how he rebelled against it! but was she not truthful even to the very end? was she not aware of this demise's nature, even as she sought to save him from it?
love, rising fierce to course the fields of his heart — and now he looked desperately for some way to save the crone from the true end that was now coming to claim her, wherein she would be warped and die without an inkling of her true self.
"would you like me to kill you now?" merrick uttered in a shuddering breath, single eye roving caiaphas' wizened countenance for any sign that she would accept.