Bearclaw Valley it's whatever you say it is

forward dated to around the 20th. @Merrick and any other ursus people are welcome

Getting back to the Valley took a better part of the week. The smell of Ursus and its bears grows stronger and stronger until it fills all the holes in his skull. He breathes like a smoker: long and slow in, long and slow out.
We're just outside, he murmurs, turning back to Ico. The ferns and brambles, crushed underfoot, lead to a coniferous forest full of rocks and boulders. Beyond the forest, and just visible from here, the land opens up dramatically to reveal the valley. Like god's footprint. Where all the characters are. If Ico wanted to do his research on the failures and successes of wolf nature and nurture, this was the place.
The effort of not beaming with excitement is like trying to unpop a balloon.

Unexpectedly, Ico had attracted a travelling companion; one who cast him in shadow in more ways than one. It took Ico a while to get used to the novelty of his good fortune, but there was plenty to distract him from the reality that even this good thing must at some point come to an end.

Fields, the towering hunter that Ico thought of as a ranging knight, had led the way South from the great boulder striken in two. Over the coming days, they'd ventured down into a snowy valley, through fields of scattered, skeletal trees, across meandering rivers, and through woodlands that reminded him a little of Walnut Grove. They even skirted round the scent of a pack border, and Ico had gazed curiously across the way as they did so.

When they finally slowed in a manner that felt conclusive, and not just a temporary pause for rest or lunch, Ico felt his heart beat an excited rhythm against his chest. He was apprehensive, but most of all he was curious. He looked up at Fields, whose tales and traits he'd come to absorb over the passing days. "I've never seen a place like this", he breathed, white ears flattening a little as he readied himself for further company.

But some of the scents on the breeze were not of pine or wolf or savoury snack. He returned his gaze searchingly to the landscape. "Bearclaw Valley... would I be silly to hope you call it that just because it looks like a bear's claw...?" The alternative was scary as heck. Ico had never seen a bear before, but he had heard horror stories.

russet hackles flared as the boy sulked. astara had acted erratically as of late; he was happy to satisfy her, but still did not understand many things. and she had bitten him! he did not understand.
the young coywolf prowled the borders beset with a frown, but it lifted as he scented fields. the tall blonde boy with shadows smudged beneath his eyes. beautiful one.
he came upon fields and a slight lithe companion that reminded merrick of the foxes he had recently killed with skoll. "brought a gift?" he purred toward his blue-eyed friend, dazzled by the delicate limbs of this pretty stranger.

Even first-time visitors to Bearclaw valley will notice a curious smell in the air as soon as they approach: that is, of course, the smell of bears going on about their lives. Bear feces, bear piss, bear blood. But they'll grow used to it, just as a coal miner gets used to dust in his lungs.
Taylor, in his customary way, asks a rhetorical question without the intonation. You're pretty quick, ain't you. Anyone could make a hell of a story out of a city run by bears. Even he knows this.
His smile only grows when he sees Merrick; he's in danger of splitting his head in two. Turning back, he gestures at Ico expectantly. Ico could introduce himself better than Taylor ever could— blow any story he could spin up out of the water. He steps back, twiddling his thumbs. Tapping his big toe.

Ico knew it even before Fields's quip of confirmation — bears were afoot. Maybe not right in this spot, maybe not within eyeshot, but just beyond the treeline he was sure of it. But then something inordinately more immediate made itself known.

The boy with one eye. Dark midnight gloom, but with layers of silky sand both wet and dry. The remaining eye shone like a burning comet, and above it the ear was torn and wretched.

Ico barely had time to clock his gaze before he blinked away submissively and lowered his already delicate form, tail making close friends with the frosted ground.

And then, all of a sudden, a wave of clues rushed towards him —

• Fields had so readily welcomed Ico, a loner with no obvious skills.
  
• He'd made the effort to take Ico all the way to his home at Bearclaw Valley.
  
• ... Where roamed bears; great and thunderous eating machines. Why were these wolves unafraid of the bears? Did they have an understanding?
  
• "Brought a gift?"
  
• "You're pretty quick, ain't you..."
  
• Yes Ico was quick. He'd make such good sport...
  

A gift...

Please don't feed me to the bears!

a moment passed wherein merrick had eyes only for fields and the glint of his wide grin. the details of his eager wait were not lost upon the boy as he turned back to the little fox, malicious beaming a shaft of light that illuminated the pale fur and halfway feminine limbs.
a laugh purled into a velveteen end.
"the bears have their sacrifice. for now." ragged ears swept with amusement toward fields. "i'm merrick. where did our sunflower friend find you?" the young coywolf inquired, shifting somewhat closer to observe the stranger with his muzzle, if permitted.

Ico cowers, Merrick laughs, Taylor taps the ground. For a few moments, Taylor considers the ramifications of picking Ico up by the shoulders and giving him a good shake. Of biting down hard enough to crunch through bones.
Sunflower friend. That might be the funniest thing anyone has said so far. His face hurts from the effort of smiling. Snarling or smiling, at the end of the day, what you're really doing is showing your teeth. 
Full of restless energy, Taylor looks back and forth between Ico and Merrick, who seem like twins in a horror movie, one dark and one light. Standing in front of your house. Waiting to blow your door down.

From an early age Ico had learned that smiles weren't all joy and humour. He'd received pitying smiles, eye-rolling smiles, dear-god-how-is-this-kid-still-alive smiles.

Merrick's smile was amused, curious, introspective, all at once. But there was also a hint of cruelty to it, as he elected not to altogether reassure Ico, but to instead make note that his sacrifice theory had not been too far off. The pale youth had no idea what to say to that, but his eyes widened upon the ground, watching a piece of dead grass rustle in a passing breeze.

At the mention of Fields, Ico chanced a brief glance up at him. He didn't know what to make of that smile. And no reassurance was forthcoming, so Ico took a breath, trying not to cower as Merrick's shadow melted over him.

My name's Ico, sir. Just a lone wolf. Fields found me up North, about five days. We shared our stories, and he was very kind. I was... am very intrigued by Fields's description of this group, especially as I love to hear and tell the stories of many varied people. I thought I might... I thought I might get to meet some interesting characters here, he finished a little bashfully.

he glanced to fields. stories? picnicking? bringing this little cherub home for a cakewalk? "he was right," merrick purled. "we are very interesting here, ico." madmen. a violent raven. males who would do his bidding without a blink. 
"what sort of stories do you like?" he went on, continuing the interview with syrup that melted over his tongue. ico was pliable, biddable, altogether too gentle for ursus. 
but perhaps he could be clay.
merrick intended to discover this for himself.

Taylor can't help but punctuate Ico's introduction with an encouraging hum. He smiles vaguely when appropriate. His limpid gaze could pass as a facsimile of pride or satisfaction or generalised affection. 
It is Merrick who reaches out with a question, and he feels compelled to answer it for him. But he knows that this isn't his interview, and that he is only the background character now, seen but not observed, faceless and left up for interpretation.
His role slowly changes from earnest travel partner to a weapon. It was comfortable, that transition, the eventual click of the revolving door that brought him to a metallic and martial conclusion.

Although Ico's quiet hero-worship of the kind but quirky Taylor Fields had calmed down a little since getting to know him, it was renewed in this new context. And what was more, Merrick was nonintoxicatingly impressive, and his tone and words so laden with layers that he daren't explore them too deep... lest he uncover something that scared him.

The truth was, Ico was scared of all of this. But an even heavier truth was that he was entirely taken in by this mix of welcome and intimidation. He wanted nothing more than to give the right answer. But what was the right answer?

He couldn't look to Fields — now that they'd encountered Merrick, his travelling companion was starting to feel a bit like a stranger again. He was being tested by them both.

... What was the right answer? Ico didn't know, so he stuck with the truth. I don't have the most life experience... but I've yet to hear or tell a story I don't like.

good cop. bad cop. two completely insane cops walk into an interrogation room.
merrick nodded warmly, sagely. "i'll tell you one right now," he sighed, settling himself down upon dark haunches some feet away.
"once upon a time, there was a boy. this boy had no father, and his mother left him when he was young. just because she wanted to," merrick embellished. indra's name need not be upheld now, nor that of tadec. "then his sister left him. he was sad. and he ran away." a low, carefully practiced melancholy rushed into his features. 
"he came home, but not until he made himself ... free. do you want to know how he did that?" the coywolf asked affably, one eye glowing with the scales of the inner creeping thing.

For a teenager, Taylor did a fine job at standing in the back and looking sufficiently dangerous.
He thinks, if Ico liked my story, that shitty tired Frankenstein monster of truths and lies, he'll like any story. 
He thinks, my life, calling it a story, it's an insult to every story out there.
He thinks, What a tragedy. What a shitshow. All these boys who've lost their families. I wish my family would leave me alone.
Tsk, tsk, tsk, Taylor shakes his head and frowns as Merrick elaborates on the story-family's failures. It's almost grotesque, how he does it. You can't tell whether he is trying to act as the protagonist or if he is reacting to the series of events as a spectator, or both.
The way Merrick talks makes him feel strangely at peace. He notices the nuances. Like it was as if he had meant to say something else, but replaced the word with free at the very last second. And how he had said home. 

Despite having had a comparatively simple life at Walnut Grove, largely free of experimental strangeness and threads of shadow, Ico did have an imagination. Such a skill dwelt at the core of any fair storyteller. And something about the way Merrick's eye twinkled, and Fields muttered ill approval in the spectator stands, made Ico feel that the cyclops could be telling a tale of death. His sister had left him. And his mother had left him... "because she wanted to".

He didn't like this story — it quickly transpired that "like" was far too uncomplicated a word for today — but Ico was enraptured.

Yessir, he breathed. There were a few ways a lost boy could "free" himself from the trap of suffering constant loss.

buoyed by the tall handsome peanut gallery, merrick shifted somewhat closer to ico. his smile grew wider; his one eye suggested a warm mirth that was not truly present. the bearwolf enjoyed so greatly the sensation of having his every word clung to, heard, swallowed.
"he had to be free, and that's why he had to go and find his mother. and he did. not far from where she abandoned him all that long, long time ago. she just never came back."
merrick sighed contentedly. "so he killed her. he strangled her throat and drank her last mommy's kiss-kiss. and then he went on, and formed this place. the place i was born," the young coywolf all but whispered, smilde fading slowly into a silent and piercing look.

Intrigued, he finds himself leaning forwards as Merrick leans forwards, a slow-motion domino effect that is made infinitely more ominous by the mention of matricide.
He wonders what other secrets he might be hiding. The bloodiest, most tragic strip-tease he'd ever heard of. 
And he wonders where the body is. Would Merrick have buried her? Burned her? Cast her to the ocean? He's filled with a morbid curiosity, the same curiosity that brings premature deaths to hundreds of people all around the world every day. Felled by an angry mother bear. A slip and a tumble down a canyon. Touching a live wire, and burning to death in a single millisecond.
There are people who need to die, Ico, he says after Merrick finishes his story, as if explaining to a child. Even if you have to be the person who kills them. You're just cleaning the streets. Getting rid of the scum.

The next chapter slid open with a devilish grin, and Ico absorbed it with wide brown eyes. Although he greatly admired Fields, the knight with the uneasy smile, there had been something off about him, something extra-interesting in a manner unsuitable for children; and Merrick exuded that impression tenfold. So fascinated was Ico by the strangeness and newness of this, he felt distant from it — a reader, not a participant. And thus he found himself unaware of the danger he was in. He was low, submissive, but failed to wither or flee.

I can see why that might free you, sir... he murmured thoughtfully. The mother was a character in a story, a villain and a victim both. Merrick's perspective was paramount, because he was tangible. The same could be said for Fields. Ico gave a tiny nod to the latter, a beat of understanding and agreement; it's a ruthless world. Sometimes we're lucky enough not to have to kill for nourishment or rights or a place to stay put... but sometimes we have to, or die ourselves.

At this particular moment, Ico was the storyteller. Had he been a character in that story, it would be evident he was not a killer. He was one of those who died.

And I understand there are other reasons to kill as well. And other reasons to die. The timid fellow addressed this to the Alpha, glancing briefly in the direction of that x-ray eye.

a strength in the cherub, a swathe of ice. merrick wanted to put his muzzle against it, breathe out in a frigid arc that would trap ico's softness in snow and keep him there for all time. as he was. perfect. 
and the words rising from the shy young throat; merrick's eye glowed brighter, filling with a naked approval. fields had made an excellent choice despite the appearance that ico wore. the strengths he prized could be found beneath any hide, and ico was making a good case for himself to be discovered.
"tell us why else you might kill," merrick whispered, sidling closer, lips curving into a purr of hot breath. "tell us how you might kill." us us us us us we 
there is nothing without us
eternal; he held his breath and waited for ico to speak, gaze lingering briefly to taylor in mute agreeability of the teacher's explanation his companion had given.

Good cop and bad cop have hit bedrock. He had almost expected Ico to snap under the weight, but he had also understood that Ico was a storyteller if nothing else, and storytellers did anything to find the next scoop. The newest experience. Someone had told him long ago that the first person to a murder scene was the murderer himself. The second person was invariably some sort of storyteller.
Flashing cameras really did belong in a ring around a car crash. The filthy and wet insides of a cathouse.
Leaning forwards, more and more, he's suddenly aware that he barely knows Ico at all. The thought of breaking into somebody's head, fracking and drilling into the skull, it's more exciting than it ought to be.

Despite the great broadness of the valley beyond, everything felt very enclosed right now as Ico sat here low-down in this private space with two tall somebodies, two mysterious characters in a dark, dark tale. To get to the beyond, Ico had to focus on their enclosure. The most titanic stories could be contained in the smallest moments.

Ico's instinct was actually to explain that he, little Ico, couldn't kill at all. He was too fragile, too cowardly, and too sweet. A five-month old could flatten him in a wrestling match, an eight-year-old could outweigh him in a hunt. Despite the flattering attention of the black King and his Rook, the white Pawn recalled that he was too useless to move far.

But Merrick knew that. He was shadowy and poisonous, but far from dim. He could see that Ico was not a powerhouse. He was asking for theory.

I can invision killing to save another life, a better life. Ico had to imagine it, because he'd never yet cared about anyone enough to try and kill (perchance to die) for them. And to uphold values. Values that give the ruthless world more order. Or at least more meaning.

As for how...

Surely now was not the moment for humour... surely... and yet Ico felt the smallest smile flutter briefly onto his face, and his tight, fearful heart lighten for a fleeting moment as he proposed —

With bears?

"yes!" merrick exulted, leaping up with a grin upon his mutilated features. the exact sort of answer he had wanted, ico rising to a challenge beyond himself, and doing so with fucking aplomb. his tongue hung in a laugh; he nudged first fields with a shoulder, and then swept in to bid ico rise up up up up no more cowering no more pandering no more submission.
"ico," merrick murmured, seriousness blossoming again upon his face. "would you like to stay here, with ursus?" of course he expected the answer to be affirmative, but he wished to hear it all the same, to watch the slim, pretty jaws of the foxlike boy form into a yes.
he had pleased merrick. it was not hard to do, but it was difficult to keep a consistency. and yet ico had thrilled him again and again, firing the old hunger for ripping flesh and the lower throb of his more physical self, all intrinsically tied to the glee that rushed through his veins.

Joke or not, Merrick had took it like it was a manifesto, and Taylor took it like he did everything else. Quietly. Thoughtfully.
He laughs when Merrick shouts and nudges his shoulder— it is a clear, short laugh, free of irony and bitterness, and he's surprised that he can still make such a noise. With the bears, he muses. If he had hands, one would be stroking his chin and the other maybe stroking a concealed pistol. Classic. With us.
This was not what he had expected when he brought Ico to the Valley, but it pleased him all the same. It pleased him that he was able to find and maintain such a diamond in the rough. 

Yes please! he wanted to squeak, every fiber of his being overjoyed not simply that he had spoken pleasingly, but that he was wanted. For what he still was not sure. Evidently he had done well to eloquently uphold the values of Bearclaw Valley (of Ursus?), but he still lacked power, lacked strength, lacked tangible skill. It was difficult not to utter; are you absolutely sure?

So instead he seized the moment, his nervous smile lingering and allowing itself a little more surety as he was raised to his height (which was really very little height at all). Ico was unsure what to say, but the truth and frankness of the Ursus wolves had been demonstrated, and so... ultimately... the desperate young loner said exactly what he'd wanted to say: yes please!

"consider it done," merrick intoned. face bright, he looked to fields fondly. "the bear must have spoken to you," he declared, softly, thoughtfully. "come with us," he urged ico. "let's look around. this land, this is all ours. and the fox-glen beside us," he purred. "all ours. take what you want."

fade time

The bear must've spoken to you. He shivers at the thought. Ferns unfurl inside his head, beads of water drip off of them. Just beyond them is the unforgiving silhouette of a bear.
Taylor lingers there for a moment, closes his eyes and breathes in the musk of the bears, before turning and walking towards the center of the Valley, to guide Ico to the heart of Ursus.