Bearclaw Valley louisiana motherhouse

these ones were the same miserable age his own had been. merrick scowled over them, though he was briefly mollified by the clinging flakes of black blood that seemed to fleck one of the boulder-children. bathed in it, as he had done for avicus and aventus. 
it was the way of ursus.
perhaps it was due to his association with his own brood, perhaps merrick for all his murderous thirsts had become accustomed to the bearberries bouncing about the valley — whatever it was did not spur the urge toward infanticide. he dropped his disfgured face closer, eyed the grub bumbling his way. "you're better off without them both," he sniffed, for revui had never been interested, and the woman too foolish to move them before his murderwife flushed them from cover. it was her own fault for being so reticent, unheedful of the violent hierarchy in the pack. and it had cost her dearly.
"i have plans for you," he cackled.