Ankyra Sound Tragedies with penniless fountains

mahler had begun to pile stones near his ramshackle shelter to mark the progress of the days. the brine beheld more often his broad bulk in its lapping embrace, at times hackle-deep. yet the man continued to keep his own company — for a week he had said nothing to a single wolf of grimnismal.
presently a foolish seabird had attempted a theft of fish from the musiker; it now dangled from his jaws, weakly flapping wings that dragged long pinions in the sand. not dead — the man saw no reason to dispatch it in the moment.
salt-stiffened hackles flared when the hard lilac of his stare beheld movement. one of the witch's brood, testing the water. pausing a long moment, mahler contemplated merely moving on his way, but instead approached with heavy steps of his broad paws. presently, the great beast stared implacably at the child, then hurled down his burden, so that it splashed saltwater up along the stone. "kill it," came the musiker's rusted croak; there was no longer music to be found here, but perhaps he might be entertained by the attempts of so young a wolf.
the idea he was being rather cruel surfaced in the murk of his stubborn mind, disorganized as it had not been since the death of his loved ones; mahler settled himself nearby and pinned the boy with the stone of his lavender eyes.