Bearclaw Valley We started livin’ in an old house

Bishop watches Merrick carefully, sure not to ease closer to the coy wolf despite his desired friendliness. He’s always seen the bear king as a man of great honor for allowing him to join his pack when he was weak and injured. He still wants to be in his pack but he’s afraid of what it might Bishop himself or Ursus as a whole. What if he ended up accidentally injuring or killing one of Merrick’s cherished pack mates. Or even worse one of his children. He doesn’t desire to make an enemy of the Coy-wolf, staying away is his best option. The termoil rushing through Bishops mind like a rumbling waterfall is too obvious as he looks upon the leader of Ursus. 

Evien is gone. He says then. Bishop’s eyes flicker with sorrow for the high ranking medic he never got to truly know. He blames the disease that clutches at his being for not being able to. He would’ve liked to, he seemed nice. Maybe he could’ve helped him cull whatever is wrong with him from his battered body. 

He wants to ask what happened, but Merrick is asking him a very important question. One that makes his cropped ears twitch unnaturally. No. He doesn’t. Whatever is inside of him does — horribly so.

Bishop whines, a high pitched noise in the back of his throat. A spotted tongue licks at his lips nervously. The twitch of his ears makes him nervous. It’s subtle signs at first. Then they get more obvious before he goes into whatever state he’s in that desires blood.

“No. I don’t, but it does.” He states lowly. “What do I do?” He asks almost desperately. “I can’t stay here and risk killing one of you in cold blood.” He shakes his head. “What do I do?” He asks again when his ears twitch again.