Lost Creek Hollow as though i were still mortal

one month ago, @Nunataq had abandoned him upon a bloody hillock, and one month ago, merrick had begun to crack beneath the weight of a veneer that could never thrive without his sister. he patrolled, he spoke with others, he wore his rank well. he did not not speak to her. he did not think her name. he did not sleep in the den they had once shared.
exactly one month to the day, the clay feet of merrick's statue behind which he hid his true form crumbled, and he woke covered in the dew of the field, mouth bitter as ruined wine. eyes darkened with the absence of pain, or perhaps the weight of it, merrick stalked through the hollow and made for the shelter he had once called home, where she lay.
perhaps by fluke or by instinct, she was not there, but the boy was riotous in his wounds
she left
sick sick sick sick sick sick
he dragged furs he had hunted from the den, left them shredded in front of the entrance, bit soil from the walls, churned the dirt outside with his own urine and spittle, crushed nearby branches, all with the cunning meticulousness of one exacting revenge from an enemy. and when he had finished, merrick hunted a young rabbit in the nearby thicket, broke two of its legs, and let its agonized shrieking speak for itself as he pulled the pelt from its body and left it alive outside nunataq's door.
then, and only then, merrick blinked, drew breath, bared his teeth at the empty den, and wept wormwood tears into the mud.
there was no one left, and then there was no merrick, for he fled then, over the borders, toward the steelteeth of the mountains that rose in the west.
and with each step he cursed himself for being so wretched that even the one who had borne him had given up in the end.

Just few days ago Nunataq had turned one year old and, though she had no conscious knowledge of this, she had decided to make a home for herself elsewhere. Lost Creek Hollow had outlived it's usefulness by now and the cold war between her and Merrick just fuelled her decision to leave. She had made a makeshift den and some treasure spots in Bearclaw valley and been gradually moving all the important stuff from here to there.

And maybe it was lucky that she was not present, when Merrick's meltdown happened and in a fit of spiteful anger he had destroyed their shared home. She arrived there several hours later to inspect the chaos curiously and eat the rabbit, who was dead by now.Not for one second did she wonder, why he had shred the pelts in pieces, peed and spat all over them. To Nunataq spite and revenge were foreign concepts, therefore she failed to understand the message left for her. Quite the contrary, she sniffed out and marked all over the spots her brother had left.

Just because Merrick's trail led towards the hide-out, where her last prized possession lied (that plastic bottle, which has been featured in other threads), she followed it for a while. Now with her toy retrieved safely, she stopped, looking indecisive. Out of old habit she yearned to find her brother, to be the same great team they had been all these months. But the recent fear marred those fond memories. She sighed and went the other way.

In little over a year there was nothing left of the formerly tight-knit Bearclaw valley family.