Bearclaw Valley A glimpse of you, a remnant trace

his rook tended the bones with a feverish devotion he could not replicate in himself. but he could show their son. and so merrick approved of how aventus had reacted to him, and set off at a giddy clip into the wilderness of bearclaw.
he believed that by now the boy would keep pace with him. making no attempt at moderating his pace. it was a wild, headlong run, one that spun between shadows and the long stems of ancient trees, beyond rock faces and across the treacherous field of moss hiding stones ready to snap an ankle if the runner was not careful.
across the vibrant field, now frostwoven in the mornings; merrick slowed, sides lifting as he came to the altar, its tended clearing, the path leading to the bonefield and her own chosen pieces of ivory. "this is your mother's place."