Bearclaw Valley When they say 2% milk, I don't know what the other 98% is

a grin spiraled into a black howl that followed the fleeing boy like a dirge, nipping at one's heels, haunting the ears. let him be made mad. let them call him so. as long as he was feared, merrick saw no reason to care.
he stalked proudly back the way he had come, bright nape flaring with adrenaline, and soon broke into a small trot that carried him, tongue lolling, to the thick stream within the valley.