Bearclaw Valley the clock of the time dragon

kill her!

The screech of the hawk through his skull spurred him forward, ripping across the landscape like a living shadow. In his father’s steps, but curving, seeking, ever seeking.

He would find religion in the way his teeth curved through flesh, the way blood carved across his tongue, when he sought her sides. In the aftermath, he would realize he carried her mark in the rip of fangs across one of his ears, scoring him thrice there. But death was not far for the witch who cursed him so.

The eaglet crew great claws, and tore into the woman who had tormented his dreams, though it would be his father who killed her. And with every lash of teeth, he would rise closer and closer to a god he did not and would not ever know.