Bearclaw Valley raspberry cigars

"spartans are those meant to be born in the field and die in it as well," merrick murmured after a moment, setting aside the rest of her words to explain. ash was someone who had been honed like soft gold beneath the beating of hammers. it explained her edge despite her tender years.
the conflict between relatives was also familiar. he rolled onto his back, feeling ancient bone fragments crumble beneath his spine. he hoped to take the ash down to the root of his guard hairs, where he knew not a fleck of astara remained; but still he hoped.
"my children were honed by the bear." he shifted up once more, debris falling in small billows of ivorydust from his shoulders. the cyclop's-stare fixed to ash once more. "four live. only one met the test of the bear." he loved avicus in the way that merrick loved anyone, but she was not willing to submit to choosing and tests.
had he known she raised her own legacy, had he known that even asperas had set her own hardened path, the man would have rejoiced.
"you're a winnower."