Bearclaw Valley deep in earth

blood.
was it her favorite word? merrick watched the little tanager with the closest expression to fondness he could muster. it felt ungainly upon his face, over-practiced, foreign. a man of masks, but he had scarce worn this one. never, in all reality. never like this. 
something like joy upon her own.
round with meat and warm, nudged against his side, puppybreath metallic with blood. 
"proud." another word for, heavy and cool and round, ready for avicus to pore over and understand.