he had come back to himself, renewed, invigorated with the pride of a male in the full rut of an early season. thus far, it had been only wylla, but he would soon become aware of springtime's affect upon his pack.
his diaspora.
mahler flagged his plume above a heavy, slow stride, a deliberately weighted step designed to draw remark from those he sought to court. in his arrogance, the gargoyle considered takiyok's threat to carry another man's children, and lips curled with a smirk. where might she go to find a more powerful creature worthy of her own lineage?
and so it was replete with self-assurance and a silent masculine bluster that mahler came at the soft croon of the blackfeather princess. she was coursing with determination, and he assumed it was for he the young woman searched.
"vhat is it, maegi?" he rumbled, sharp gaze appraising her for any knowledge of what she wished.
they spoke, and in time he came to know the source of the bitterness sweeping through the young woman.