Bearclaw Valley Like the generations of leaves, the lives of mortal men.

In the days between his escape from the valley and today, he had failed to find anything of note. The snow had come and washed away, or hidden, the trail his brother Astyanax had taken. It had obscured more than that: the way back, the way forward, everything blanketed in white.

For two weeks Karst was left to his own devices; he huddled for warmth when he could find shelter and chased the ghostly sounds of falling snow, or ran from the howling wind, until he thought he was at his limit. He began to talk and told himself to keep on going — that if he stopped he would surely freeze and die, and he did not want to die.

When he came to the edge of the valley Karst did not recognize it. He kept going, his limbs weak and his body trembling from the cold, his head fogged with hunger. When he finally stopped walking he slumped against a solid object coated in ice — not recognizing the massive boulder that he had passed by so frequently in the past.

ursus too, had lost much.
and merrick brooded.
easthollow had come down, and yet he felt only a tight irritation about it, for laurel had escaped.
he had dizzied himself dancing o'ertop the graves and old land of the stone circle wolves, had retched at last into the snow and cursed the name of greyback, of valette, of their brat prince clay.
easthollow, bleeding so many times at his gate, and merrick's own shed beside theirs.
but they had gone and spirited off the last bitch carrying indra around like a talisman —
she must be erased. 
merrick sat hunched atop the guardian stone, exposed to the elements; his head throbbed with the pain bitten into his exposed scars, but it was only his presence here that brought the muffled thump of revui's stoneboy against its side. he descended in a shiver and a spray of snow. "nothing is worth leaving this place," merrick growled, though in the next moment he shuffled closer, as if to offer the gangly prodigal child his warmth.

The last time he had been here, Averna had spoken to him of a creature called Sithis; he still did not understand much about this, however, as the dark figure dripped from atop the boulder and shrouded him with a familiar warmth, he thought of that tiny moment.

The voice that came was one he recognized too, except he did not recoil from it as he might have weeks ago; he did not flinch or even think to be wary, as he was tired, worn thin by his time separated from the collective.

Karst was silent — slowly tipping his chin so that he could look up at the glower on the man's face, and with a weary sigh burrowed against Merrick's haunch.

the stonechild did not greet him with fear, but with trust; merrick was no healer, but the look of him was dire. of course he had not hunted in this; if ursus could not, then the boy would not have been able to do so.
had he come home to die, then?
a greater man might have stirred beneath the rawboned weight of the young wolf, but merrick did not. the snow banked against the sharpness of his hip and still he did not move.
"every day that you were outside of ursus, you chose life. do not choose anything less now."
moving now, shouldering the boy — the boy, the boy, the boy — why had no name been given? for his own brood, it was the evocation of blood and of moondark that spun their silent names in merrick's marrow, but he had no such connection with this one.
"get up, tuur."
the name breaking from the curl of his tongue unbidden but for the bear spirit rousing in his heart.

The low burn of the man's voice kept him from falling asleep, which his body quietly requested of him, and that was good. Had he drifted in the dark and let it swallow him he would surely be submerged, never to be free of it.

Get up, Tuur. The bruin-witch rasped as he shouldered the boy. A small cry leaked from Karst's chest but he did rise, doing as he was told, although he stumbled soon after.

The raggedy boy's ears slanted on his head, sideways at first and then back, and he almost did not rise again. It was tempting not to; so much effort to keep on going — and where was he going? Why should he go?

He's gone, the boy lamented piteously, breathing in the frost and the allspice of Merrick's residual scent, and turned his head to look the other way. Gone.

"and you must accept it," merrick growled into the teeth of the wind. he meant to herd tuur against the lee side of a great oak standing sentinel at the edge of rivenstone, now sleeping beneath a blanket of thick snow. here the pair would be secured in some fashion from the wind and the ice in its teeth. "wait here," the bearwitch commanded, stepping back into the storm.
it was with half a frozen fish he returned, a paltry offering for a wolf half grown to yearling; but as it thawed it would lend at least some strength to the wasted frame. merrick tucked himself back against the wide bole, the single eye seeking tuur in silence for a moment. "accept he will not come back, and do it quickly. you must be harder than nostalgia."

All he had was his brother — past or present. They had entered the world together, lost their mother together, fought against the indignities of the other children together. Perhaps that was why he had left to hunt him down — so they could at least die together, if the new frigidity of the world decided that for them. Yet he was here, and the brother was not.

The shadow moved from his side and Karst became acutely aware of that absence, keening in to the wind with his own mournful call; but then Merrick came back and bestowed upon him a frozen fish.

Hungry as Karst was, he tended to this gift tenderly, with warm laps of his tongue across the fish-sicle. He stopped when Merrick spoke truth. Without saying anything else he gingerly grappled with the head of the fish and stood up with it hanging awkwardly from the side of his mouth.

A punitive nod. Karst's head sank lower than his shoulders and he began to walk again — to follow Merrick lethargically along. The fish scales melted with the humidity of his mouth and the sour flavor of it turned his stomach.

merrick led the both of them to the medicine den now gone cold in evien's absence. it had been where the son of his body had resided; now it would provide respite to the son of the mountain. "i want you to rest here," he told the boy once they had both come to nestle inside the cleft, the stream outside frozen with winterbite.
but he did not leave, not yet; his eyes traversed the ragged look of tuur, and then he glanced around, in the direction of the place where the physician had always kept his herbs so organized.
"if you want this place as your home, then learn to use those things," merrick gestured. "if it is not for you, then when you have grown stronger, we will search in ursus for a place to belong." the single eye searched the weakened face.
"but it is something you must choose."

They came to a dark hole, although it was different from the hiding place he had once shared with his brother, and different from where the other children once lurked. It smelled of stale grass, which was oddly comforting in a world made so empty by winter.

The choice that came next surprised him, with Karst nesting quickly among the collections. He did not know what these things were, and soon enough he was distracted enough chewing on the frozen fish to pay attention to much.

Merrick's probing look made him pause and swallow, a slick chunk of fish cheek wedging in his throat until he swallowed again. He released the fish and looked around — damaged ears twisting inquisitively.

His sleepy eyes took in the dim surroundings and slowly turned to face Merrick again, but this time he is unable to meet that single emberous eye, and sighs, okay.

merrick hoped that evien might suddenly appear, and grow angry with them
the fire in the verdant eyes would have singed the seed of doubt from the bearwolf now. he sighed, gathered himself, began to move off into the swirling darkness.
"tuur," and the sound of it was at once both grating and pleasant to merrick, "once upon a time i thought you should belong to my children." the truth of it was necessary, even if it barbed the returned waif.
"now i see you were brought back to be bear. serve the red one," he pronounced proudly,  though there was a danger behind the remaining eye.
"do it well and you will only grow in ursus."
merrick's natal children would inherit his kingdom, but tuur would have a share in it also, bought with loyalty.

His terrestrial adventures aside, Karst was slow to react to Merrick's voice as it rose to greet his mangled ears yet again. The name he barely recognized until the man was partway through his statement, at which point the boy sniffled and seemed to wake up to the goings-on within the hollow.

No, it did not offend him that he was once promised to the other children as a plaything. He had come to terms with his role, then. It was not a life he chose for himself and he did loathe it, finding comfort in the company of his brother; but now that Astyanax was gone things were changing.

Serve the red one, Merrick commanded with his low, prideful voice. He wondered if it was Sithis that was the red one, or if they meant the red-furred child, and either way they were the same to Karst; destructive, hateful, bloody.

The cyclopean stare burned Karst. He felt it upon his skin like an hour-glass, himself an ant ready to cook. He nods and solemnly tucks himself in to a ball to further warm himself. For now he needed rest and warmth, but as he recouperated he would breathe the herbal air and dream of greener days.