Sleepy Fox Hollow einigung

mahler nodded. he would let river alone as long as she wanted. the lake was not a place he wanted to linger, for now that so many images had returned to him, he felt himself beginning to buckle beneath their weight. the man was not expecting her next pronouncement, and so only looked at river with a slow amethyst blink.
and then he let out his breath in a bemused chuff, and jerked his head away from diaspora's once-claim into the shadows of rocky footpaths leading away and up. 
"i suppose my old bones might still help you find a goat," he said dryly, though the glint in his lavender eyes told of a welcomed delight.
mahler turned, paws finding one such trail, body remembering as he moved higher.