Ankyra Sound lieder und gesänge

mahler watched the man as he spoke, explaining the origin of his injuries. a cliff, spat back from the sea. there was a swell of admiration in his breast for the strength that must be in the pale man, to survive such. he was not unaware of how the old warrior regarded him, as he knew now he resembled wylla, at least in some fashion. the musiker was too proud to conceptualize that he was not, after all, unique. 
if the man's age showed, so it was plain that he had not lost his wits; this was no doddering elder mahler now beheld. the feral, searching light in the falcon-eyes proved this, and the dappled komponist straightened beneath the scrutiny. what had persuaded him to join? mahler recalled no strong draw to this place, save for how he had been accosted and found wanting at the borders. 
and here his own mouth quirked with some small humour. "vylla," mahler answered simply, for it was the only true reply.