Wapun Meadow the nasty words of a hateful song

the bear-god seemed to have heard the demand of merrick's body, for presently the deity provided a vision of a rogue traipsing into the meadow. merrick stood tall as the figure grew larger, bright gaze clawing at his own dark robes. the cyclops tilted a toothy smile in the tiger-brute's direction, admiring the play of dimming glow across the other's lithe form.
an inclination of his slender muzzle, and the boy trotted off, invitation to join clear in the relaxed air of his flank, the way that he scudded across the handsome cruelty of the beast with his single eye.
some diversion, here; some ineffable thing that, catlike, must be toyed with until its end.