Silvertip Mountain thestral

the mother mentioned by the boy, merrick was most curious about her. after all, he was not fond of mothers, their clinging, their lies; it was enough for him to decide that all of them were like indra in the end: uncaring and untrustworthy. look how long she had been gone! not once had she come back!
but this was not about indra, the coywolf noted as the acrid sting of urine butted up against his nostrils. this was a celebration of self; what he had done; what he had wrought.
wanting to assure himself of the little one’s terror, merrick thrust his face down near the small wet features. ”you’re awake,” he crooned affably, snakelike and unblinking.
astara had returned from her tasks; he beckoned her closer, unsure whether or not the pup should yet be aware of her presence. but he wanted her near, this little spectre who had run before them, around them. 
”this is a cave of devils,” merrick whispered conspiratorially to his downed charge. ”there’s one here now. if you’re not good, she will come and take you into the water.”
tongue held between his teeth as not to allow the snickering passage, he pulled away from the pup and paced in a small semi circle, mind chorusing with a thousand desires at once.