Barrow Fields Dear hero imprisoned

at this distance, mahler could see the azure and seagreen that glowed in the dark face. as quickly as he had stepped forward in dominance, at the other's call, the urge departed the musiker and he lifted his chin, letting his gaze appraise the male for a handful of ticking seconds longer. "good," came his monosyllabic grunt — time in grimnismal had loosened his tongue, but not for those he did not know.
"lost?" mahler inquired with a wan flick of one sable ear; the man was wandering in an open field between packlands. it was an unwise decision, unless it was a squabble the stranger sought.