Ankyra Sound And I'm not wearing trainers

attuning himself to wylla's lead allowed mahler to resist, if only for this moment, the sweet and heady fragrance that compelled the biology of him. matching her pace, the musiker turned his gaze toward their destination. he suspected the witch lived there, given the thickness of her scent; the prospect of meeting caipahas in his wet fur was not one mahler enjoyed contemplating. but wylla was here, something upon which the man refocused.
at length, he lifted the hard lilac of his eyes to take in the darkened details of the grotto. having never before been within this sanctum, or perhaps any like it in recent memory, mahler's observation was thorough and silent. he did not move to lash the water from his charcoal pelt until all curiosity had for the moment been sated, and then not before he first assured himself that wylla remained close, that she had not departed and left him for the witch to find.