Bearclaw Valley a chalice of pastel blood

Scents wrapped around them in the brush.
Some sharp, some warm. Some prey, some just prey with teeth and a will to fight and steal their way through life.
Merrick seemed to not like the fox trail they followed. He chases it with purpose, but his words were...absent from the task at hand.

"Prolly no." Nothing in their Ancestors teachings mentioned a yes or no to the fact.
"Be tha' wha' yous teaching Merrick?"
There were kids here. They were to be taught the religion, certainly.