Ankyra Sound lieder und gesänge

mahler's lips twitched at the other's stare, seeking to hide a smirk over having seized the attention of the pale krieger. the lavender stone of his eyes traced the pallid railspikes of fur that had awakened along kierkegaard's shoulders, but he evinced no movement at the gesture. a dance here; music in the shock and the unsurety of each one's reaction to the other as the pair continued to glean details from those proffered between them. 
when the rugged brute's lips dared a small curve, thus did mahler follow suit, lifting a broad dark paw to shift the fish toward himself. his jaws parted to taste, but up came his dark-masked visage, ears sweeping forward with an intrigue he did not this time attempt to hide, the rusted words of his mother-tongue on kierkegaard's low tones. the musiker's eyes lit at once — he accepted the ribbing of the pallid fighter with a snort of faux indignation.
unbeknownst to anyone who was not mahler, he had ranked those in grimnismal by seemingly arbitrary fashions; what mattered only was that aside from wylla, kierkegaard alone had ascended in the dappled man's esteem. he prised flesh from the fishbones for a contemplative moment. "they remain in you still, kierkegaard, words from the old country." mahler paused, choosing his next words carefully — he was not a creature who oft spoke in longer sentences than was necessary, not due to inability, but rather to his own prideful choice. "i could help you remember, maybe. if you vanted."