Wapun Meadow rosewater & bloodstains

merrick shouted for his girl.
was this how a mother felt
the snows billowed. ice upon the surface of the drifts, as merrick surmounted them within the meadow and cast about desperately for the bloodbear's scent —
indra — to think she had felt such;
a sharp drag of horridly cold breath, his wild eye roving, roving
another howl, piercing the white-grey of more storms gathering, brewing overhead ursus
why had the bear spirit led her away
any part of ursus is to take and to
"no!" merrick gnashed his teeth at the falling snow, gathering himself at once on the edge of a maddened chuckle.
"not her. not her."
he lunged into the meadow again, forcing himself into the piled white, single eye fixed on a desperate eternity before him.