Moonspear [Trespassing] Faded to grey

Merrit met his target with an accuracy of aim he'd achieved through his own practice (which, goes to say, sometimes hit, and sometimes didn't, and in a difficult, unrefined sort of way). But the boy himself didn't make himself a difficult thing to hit. He was already on the ground, and if not that, squirumed with an drive Merrit had witnessed in rabbits, and grouse, in things that were hunted. His fear tingled through the noble's heart, and Merrit caught the boy with a sloppy hold along his shoulderblades, and stumbled to keep a grip when the struggle began.

And they contested there upon the earth -- Merrit, with the untrained strength of his father's blood, and the boy, with his own sort of wile, for Merrit quickly discovered he was remarkably lissome, and would surely slip through his paws like a trout if he laxed himself for even a second. The stranger kicked, and scrabbled, and Merrit took the blows with sidesteps and winces -- staggering once when the stranger's hind paw kicked his own hock, and nearly buckled them both into a graceless dog-pile -- but the Raven held his ground. He would not let go, he would not let himself tire.

And then the stranger screeched --

he saw Leta, soaring through the air -- saltwater tested him --

A snarl ripped through Merrit's throat, and he sought to slam his paws against the stranger's face. "Quiet!" he hissed, loud enough for only them to hear. "If the others hear you, they will come, and then you will die."

Leta still lingered in his senses. He tried to blink away what he had seen by focusing on the stranger's face, but the boy, his eyes bore into him, and a sudden pain constricted his chest. His breathing felt heavy, tight. Something -- something -- Merrit worried his gaze into the surrounding trees, half hoping to catch the midnight glint of Hydra's eyes, but saw nothing but endless, roving shadows.