Bearclaw Valley You're on your own

merrick wished he could catch others off-guard. too long he had been fixed, been rote. a twitch of his lips as he considered, and then formed "yes" into an audible fashion. 
after all, why shouldn't he play; why shouldn't he spin out his days into debauchery and friendly games with a pretty boy?
had he a cup of wine the bearwitch would have drained it in a single draught. "i don't have nearly as angelic a voice," he told ashlar kindly, though the smile that crept to life upon his features was anything but.
contemplative. "are you really as innocent as you act?" merrick asked softly, unaware that the cherub had grown up in a similar way to himself.