Bearclaw Valley some kind of nature, some kind of soul

astara's jealousy was felt but not acknowledged; too focused was merrick upon the wounded thing she had brought to their encampment.
"someone fucked you up, huh?" the mad boy teased in a whisper. ursus roiled in his chest.
blood to take to take to take
a blink, laughter clinking like sharp shards of glass.
and here now darkhearted venamis, ready to do merrick's bidding, and in turn, merrick would do the will of
god
he drew a breath that shook with anticipation.
"make him scream."
teacher; pupil; if venamis looked now he would see the violent gutter of merrick's last eye, an encouraging flame.
he turned to astara, rushed to cover her tense and baleful face with soft kisses and whines and murmurings of his gratitude.