Silvertip Mountain thestral

the sound was disappointing, and the excitable rage died from merrick’s features. he glared coldly at his stolen plaything, appeased only by the sheer goatish stench of terror that wafted from the child. astara maintained her usual silence, but he could sense curiosity behind it, and presently turned his firelit stare on his companion.
the cries of the boy were beginning to unnerve merrick, dissolve his willpower; a pang of merciful pity bolted through him, and suddenly he was livid, enraged that a living creature should inspire in him what his own parents, what nunataq, had not felt for him.
with a wildling shriek, merrick dove for the boy, grasping him ‘round one hind leg and dragging him powerfully back toward the nearest pool of water.
he was unseeing, throat choked with suppressed screams of his own; a sob forced tears from his eyes even as he shoved the pup’s head down toward the surface. 
”i guess she didn’t hear you,” merrick grit out in a garbled voice, not yet decided as to whether or not he would force the small tear-stained face beneath the water. too quick, that.
punishments must be elongated; after all, did not the boy deserve to be punished? was that not what indra had chosen to do to him? 
why did you leave me
he drew a shuddering breath over the boy’s crying; the mewling of the pathetic child within his own soul was beginning to drown out his intentions. 
without warning he dug his teeth cruelly into the child’s nape, vicious snarls spurting out around his fierce mouthful of flesh.