Emberwood i wouldn't change ya

mahler gave a short nod, extending his forelegs so that the other — brennan — might see the well-healed scars that littered them. "he kept me from fever," the musiker murmured. he had done other things as well, such as wrap a pretty tongue around mahler's ego; had he not been so utterly focused upon finding wylla at the time, the mottled brute might have availed himself of what was on offer.
but he had not, and the cherubic little sylph deserved more than a half-hearted roll, made unskilled by how long it had been since mahler cared for such things. the interest that had become spearlike in the golden eyes piqued the man. "vhen did you meet him?" he inquired quietly, unable to keep from perusing this subject of mutual interest.