the rift between himself and his co-leader had risen to a tangible stress within disapora. she had gone away, and he had busied himself with preparations. but the gargoyle found himself wounded, haunted by all he had ever done wrong to those he had professed to love.
there would be children this year — his children. the thought provided much stress to the organization of his logical mind, but mahler knew he would prevail. he always found such ways. 
the shadowpriest ran a sweeping patrol around the edges of the hollow. takiyok's scent had begun to pale here, and mahler recalled that she had been absent, even scant in her previous workings.
a call now, his second; it rose and summoned the man onward, onward, until his heavy step carried him into takiyok's cold presence, her features as impassive as his own. he turned his eyes upon her and was silent, though the expectation thick within the air hung between them, an invisible lump of metal.