Bearclaw Valley raspberry cigars

for a moment all he could think of was her her her her;
purple eyes in the sunlight;
the way the dark fur had sleeked her lithe body in the wind;
a vision of his blackbird smouldering like dark smoke in the snow.
æsilfír spoke. merrick did not smile, but in the half-light his stare grew heavier, more pointed. "i never cared about legacies until my children were born. and then," the bearwolf sighed, sinking slowly down to his belly with a paw folded under his chest, "it made sense to return here. to claim something. to give them a history."
something akin to amusement lit his gaze. "maybe it's your turn to ramble now."