while mahler enjoyed the awareness that he was an observational creature, he had somehow failed to observe the child napping in the sunlight. or perhaps he had seen her, but had opted in the moment to suspend his processing of why there was a very young cub outside what he presumed to be wylla's door.
this carefully arranged bubble met its end with the pinprick of sudden and frenzied movement that brought him into the open, closer, with a flare of concern he had not before felt. and when the small thing experienced an ungainly sprawl in the dirt, mahler beheld its small dirty visage; charcoal auds swept back at the pregnant keen that suddenly began to wail from the little throat.
the musiker's jawline clenched; he had spent an indeterminate amount of time keeping from his mind's eye the memory of his own children, but they had reemerged at the sight of this pup's milkfat body. it was with half-resisted, heavy steps that he approached, tail flagging at his hips; the brute dropped to his belly and inched tenatively toward the girl until his muzzle was within touch-distance of one tiny forepaw.