Bearclaw Valley distant stars come in black or red.

The man who knew healing seemed to understand his concern, though perhaps did not share the dog's idea of rectifying the situation. Still, Fraser stooped to grasp the child as gently as he could—and stopped inches from the dark scruff as his master rounded on him with a snarl.

I— he managed, but knew his words meant little in the face of Merrick's wrath. He had overstepped, gravely. For a good cause, sure, but that did not matter now. He had angered his master, and now he would pay the price.

The deerhound submitted, stepping away from the child and making himself low and small, low and small. He feared harm would come to him, but to raise a defense against the Bruin-witch would only mean his instant demise. The others would turn on Fraser if he did so, surely. He must bear the brunt of Merrick's rage.

His eyes narrowed then closed, and he sucked in a breath in the heartbeats between his initial charge onto the scene and the inevitable punishment that would follow.