mahler had returned from his excursion into the lowlands with little more to tell about swiftcurrent than before. no matter, he decided. such things could be puzzled out at a later time.
there were hunts to be made, patrols to be done, joiners to be found, but for all of that, mahler was content to find a bit of shade and unroll a stoat skin wherein he kept his choicest medicines.
a trip to the little herb cave would be necessary soon, but upon discovering the woman liri and her lingering cough, mahler had taken it upon himself to stock diaspora’s plant cache with plants for fever, mild illnesses, vomiting, and the unfortunate malady that often took children in their youth. he had liked liri, enjoyed her company, but could not be sure that the woman was indeed not contagious, and he would never forgive himself if he had inadvertently transported home from her a virus that might slay diasporan pups.
therefore he was close when ketzia summoned him; unsure why he had been called, and aware of the terse tone in her voice, the kapitän approached in a crisp gait, bearing with him his store. ”ketzia,” mahler greeted. ”vhat can i do for you?”

his expression grew somber as ketzia spoke; a child within the den perhaps was failing. one of stigmata’s, yes, but more than that, he was a child of diaspora.
her children were too young yet to venture far from the denmouth without the watchful eye of an adult over them, and so mahler took up his skin of herbs and waited to be admitted.
when ketzia had presumably allowed him entry or brought forth her son, mahler crouched over the boy. ”i vill ask some questions now,” he warned, arranging the minuscule limbs for the child’s best comfort. ”how long has he been like this?” the gargoyle murmured, sniffing the breath at the tiny muzzle, lowering his own to prod gently at the small stomach. ”vhen did he last eat? and his vaste, vhen he excretes: does it seem normal or bitter to you? lastly, how is his urination?”
such questions were necessary to assess the boy’s situation; it could be a mere fever stealing his energy, or something more insidious, and presently he glanced to ketzia with an encouraging expression. ”i am sorry to bombard you, frau.”

he knew she meant well, and of course she could give no doctor's answers. the boy was weak, was flushed. such things happened, one taken after birth that the others might live. the warmth concerned him, for such illnesses could quickly spread to the rest of the brood. 
but he could not tell ketzia to abandon her son, not now. she looked to him for hope, and there was no necessity in deeming the child doomed. not yet. "i vill bring vater. he is young for it yet, but it is important to bring down his fever. and willowbark, a tiny amount." yes — between the two might the child perhaps be saved. he would visit every hour until a verdict could be made.
a nod to ketzia; a quick trip down to the lake, and he returned bearing soaked moss and a renewed sense of hope.