Bearclaw Valley By yon bonnie banks and by yon bonnie braes,

He was blown away. Never did he expect the devil to let him stay, not after his trespass. Fraser's head was filled with visions of fleeing the valley with his now-stunted tail—visions that dissipated quickly as the wolf spoke. His jaw fell and stayed there, as if he were trying to catch flies with his tongue. A stupid dog.

But a dog with a home, at least for now.

Thank ye, Fraser managed to whisper, choked. He fell to his belly in a reverent bow, recognizing Merrick—Merrick—for what he was. A master. When the wolf began to walk, he tagged along, taking heed of each and every word. The important ones, the ones not so much. Food. Bury. Follow. Merrick.

Merrick.

Fade out here?