Bearclaw Valley My mind won’t let me rest

"too long," merrick chuckled warmly. he walked alongside bishop, silently marvelling at the heavy tread of the other's paws. the rain fell in unyielding curtains and merrick paused beside two old oaktrees to dig. a moment or two and half a pheasant was unearthed, its shorn wing still glinting with blood that had cooled to syrup earlier.
it was still fresh, however, and the bearwitch jerked his warbit muzzle at it before he stepped back. eat.
"your other leader here is a woman. you will know her when you see her," he sighed in a brief paralysis of love for the rook he had so maligned before the saints. "i expect that not to be a problem,"
"— bishop," he added, tongue lingering on the name.
she could kill him, and this was the first reason merrick did not delineate between sex.