Bearclaw Valley dream-land

he blinked. there was a sound coming from the den, a tiny kittenish piping that brought merrick's ears to a forward thrust. he cast about for the corvid again, then began to creep across the clearing.
despite himself, merrick was curious.
perhaps if he beheld the pathetic little bundles once more, he might see why his rook had chosen they and not he; they were weak things, but consumed nothing he could ever touch.
he wanted only to look at them, for there had been two; to count to see to know — he looked around for any ursus wolf as he touched the base of the den and lingered beyond, peering into the darkness while his single eye adjusted.