Bearclaw Valley distant stars come in black or red.

It happens to quickly: the angered growl within the den of the dark enchantress. Their burnished King tossing the wet pup to the earth. Fraser, the wretched dog rushing forward to sweep in and save the day. Evian demands to keep the pup back, safe and away, warm. 

Rosina urges forward, her smile ever flawless, a coo on her lips. Lay the child here, with me. She settles to the earth, her tail patting the ground like a hand may pat a seat next to her to join her. I can help keep him warm. I'm a den mother, after all. And no sense of falsity would be found for none their was. She had truly played the role of den mother time and time again. 

But it went to no avail. The Enchantress spoke without words, her single snarl like a crack of lightning that stilled Rosina in her placement on the ground, to wretch away her attention from the pup and to the onsaught of Merrick's punishment for his deed. The fucking kid would be taken by the ugly little doctor Jekyll and let live another day. Bleeding, screaming of rage, Merrick seeks out unwarranted revenge upon the dog instead.

Rosina doesnt bat an eye to this. Does not show mercy for the dog, does not care. She only watches now as her promised prize is whisked away from her grasp.