Barrow Fields Dear hero imprisoned

an arrogant beast by nature, mahler refused to temper himself for those who had not commanded his respect, or at very least, grudging approval. he was taken by the aesthetic of the other's features, the seawater eyes, the hale limbs. interest glimmered beneath the stony lavender of his stare. "grimnismal," he murmured in his accented tones, turning to gesture in the direction of the coastal enclave with his dark muzzle.
"alone?" mahler queried after a moment's time, relaxing the tension along his spine, a more inviting nuance to his bearing as he accepted that, at least for now, the sable newcomer posed no threat. the pride in the other's voice had not gone unnoticed; it was something of which mahler deeply approved, even if he showed no inkling of this in his neutral countenance.