Bearclaw Valley a chalice of pastel blood

Their pace increased. Merrick moving faster through the undergrowth, Earp keeping pace.
His shadow.
He could faintly smell the trail as it weaved, sometimes it disappeared for Earp. But not for Merrick, it seemed, as he hunted. A hunter never lost his prize.

Then, there it was.
Earp's breathing became near-silent as he spotted a glimpse of grey through the darkness.
Merrick must have seen it too. He turned hard eyes to the man, waiting for his reaction -- or orders.