Swiftcurrent Creek des knaben wunderhorn

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mahler would have continued on, had not the slight frame of a she-wolf approach. in the lines of her body did the musiker read her submission; the man paused in his steps and rested upon her his flat amethyst gaze. ash-studded and delicate, her pelt was soft with warm tones, and her dark eyes shone with exhaustion.
lowering his muzzle somewhat, mahler blinked and drew her scent o'ertop the beavertail. another mother. perhaps in his excitement he had only considered wylla's daughter; he knew now he had been a fool to believe a large pack would house only one pup. if only for his own purposes, the gargoyle found curiosity in himself toward the finely built woman who looked scarcely old enough to have given birth. 
dropping the toy to the ground, mahler was silent for a small measure of time before his jaws parted. "you are nursink."  too blunt a statement, perhaps, one gathered by the strain behind her friendly expression and her cub-rich scent. "have you eaten?"