Duck Lake dorn zunge

there was a goodly part of mahler which had desired to go after aurewen and her brood. angered, worried, he had followed their trail until it led out of the sunspire. there he had turned back to diaspora.
it was not his to know why she had taken them away, but mahler felt a great rending emptiness in his heart for the absence of dragomir and isilme, whom he had loved.
how could she seek to keep them safe if she would not stay with them? he had seen her injuries, and after a while felt them self-inflicted. neglect of one’s own body was a singular thing, but surely it would translate to her children. so young were they.
could he have pursued them, brought them back? it was not his position to do so, and mahler dropped the thought as quickly as it had come.  his worry remained, but his responsibility was to diaspora.
currently he lurked near the edge of a duck-choked lake. the scent of swiftcurrent was heavy here, and mahler had arrived to gather silent intelligence upon the pack, things kavik had perhaps not mentioned in his generous offer.

With no luck at hunting in the grasslands, Sarah was drawn to a nearby lake. She could hear quacking of ducks from afar and was not disappointed at, what she saw, when she arrived. Plenty of mallards and their closest relatives, a pair of swans with five cygnets, swimming in the distance. At the sight of her, however, they scurried away from the banks, leaving her pondering, what would the best approach be. 

She walked the length of the bank, which was not covered in grass, reeds and bushes, when suddenly somethig caught her attention. A mishapen thing floating on the water surface. It did not have a distinctive smell, apart from the one that came with being underwater for a very long time, therefore she stepped in water, grabbed it and dragged it out to have a better look of it. When she realized, what the thing really was, she recoiled in horror. 

There with some missing limbs lied bony remnants of a wolf that had drowned a very long time ago. The first thing that came to her mind was, what was she going to do with it and had left it at that, had it not been for another approaching. She looked over her shoulder and spoke to the stranger, asking the most stupid question (a realization that came later to her) she could possibly come up with: "Do you happen to know the guy?"

under any other circumstances, mahler would have been quite put out, abandoning his post and the strangely friendly woman at once. however, his cold lavender stare bid him closer; he gazed down at what she had discovered in the water: a collection of wet wolf-bones. while it chilled him to see, the gargyole was his usual implacable self.
whatever had claimed the beast's life, it had happened long ago. without the scent of a wolf, it was barely recognizable as such, and yet kin knew kin. it was intriguing, he decided.
"i do not," he finally responded in his usual dry way, glancing to the intelligent light of the she-wolf's eyes. "should ve bury him?" perhaps she would catch the thin bit of humour in the curve of his lips, the interest that had begun to gather in his own stare.

Should they burry this? It took a while for Sarah to reward Mahler with an answer. She stared at the set of bones and residue flesh and all she could think about was, how she had hunted here, drank the water and all this time the corpse had been poisoning the water from the pit of the lake. Disgusting. Dead bodies, of course, cannot be held accountable for, where they happen to land and what becomes of them afterward, but she still felt offended by it. This was the answer - she did not wish to have any more to do with it than she already had. 

"No," she shook her head. "Waste of effort. Someone will dig it up during the night anyway." That's, what befell caches she instilled. Sooner or later someone raided it. Other species had no moral scruples at desecrating graves. "Do you wish to?" she asked. In case he did, she would help to dig.

it took some time for the woman to answer, and in those moments, mahler quietly contemplated how long it had been since the stranger had died in the waters, what sort of creature it had been before its death.
”i do,” he answered in his usual clipped way when she invited his thoughts upon the matter. ”it vould be unsanitary to leave him here, ja?” the gargoyle suggested, glancing to his companion.

Sanitary, what? Sarah furrowed her brow at the unfamiliar term, but did not ask the man to clarify. She did not think it was worth knowing and besides - she was avoiding this contaminated (you do not know sanitary, but you know this term, wow) god-damn puddle for a year. If not for a lifetime. But you never knew. 

With a sigh of a person, who is about to do one of her least favourit thing to do in life, she asked: "Okay. Where-to?" She would do the task well and then find a way to brush her teeth or something similar.

she was resistant, and who could blame her for such a natural reaction? mahler chose not to answer with words, but in deed; stepping forward, he hauled the waterlogged body from its grave and began to drag it after a fashion. noting it was far heavier than he had anticipated, mahler paced himself; it was not necessary to take the remains so far.
out of reach of the water, on a small rise of the bank, he began to dig, intending that the woman do very little as it seemed she wanted nothing to do with the corpse. therefore he would handle it, though presently he paused in his excavation to glance at his companion. "i am mahler, of diaspora."

Sarah appreciated the stranger's willingness not spare her from contaminating her jaws again. He picked up the corpse, dragged it away without a comment and began to dig a grave. Not wishing to be outdone at least in this bit, she waited until the grave-to-be was big enough for two wolves to work on and helped the guy. After all there was a bit of Lost Creek Hollow pride to defend and she did not wish to pose herself as a coward or a slacker.

The man introduced himself as Mahler. Diaspora she had heard of, though the last time she had met a packmated of theirs with a different standing and attitude. When she recalled the meeting now, she was annoyed by the guy. This - on the other hand - was like a lukewarm water. He didn't bother you, unless you paid attention to him. 

"Sarah," she replied, looking briefly up from her work. "Lost Creek Hollow."

the woman, whom mahler soon discovered was called sarah, helped him in the gravedigging, and between the pair short work was made of their unfortunate companion.
having thus interred the corpse, mahler was free to give her his entire attention, and blinked with unusual placidity as she mentioned a pack of which he could not recall hearing.
his lavender eyes fell upon the fresh mound of earth. ”ve did not know him, but perhaps we should do him a reverence and say some vords, ja?” the diasporan suggested dryly, wondering if she would find amusement in it at all.

Are you messing with me? Sarah shot Mahler an incredulous glance, when he had suggested that they say a few words to the corpse they had buried. Wasn't it enough respect that they had not left the bones rot on the shores and actually put him in a grave? Any dead bastard should be grateful for so much effort, even if he or she did not deserve it.

However, the man's expression was hard to decipher and she did not catch any trace of joke at his suggestion. "Why?" she asked him not to confront him, but out of tired curiousity of the foreign concept.

his ear flicked, bemused, as that expression crossed the woman's features. "vell, death comes for us all," he muttered toward the freshly turned earth, "but perhaps it begs the question: are ve entitled to be remembered after death?" an arch of his brow toward his companion as he awaited her answer.
mahler did not care for the remains; he had merely removed a potential contaminant. and what happened to the bones in the earth mattered nothing to him, but it had sparked a thought of his own mortality, and somehow he had found the ability to share that with this perfect stranger.

Sarah was not one for imagination or pretty speeches. She was blunt and straight-forward most of the time, did not play the "good manners" game too often and, when there was nothing to say, she kept silent. Except in this case - much to her dismay - the last strategy would prove that she was daft. Despite all the trials and tribulations of her life, pride was one thing that she had not lost. 

So, she put effort, she thought about death and, what the man had proposed. "I don't think so," she shook her head. "I would not want to in any case. Pretty content to turn into a dust and become a..." yeah, how should she continue that complex thought. For a moment there she seemed to be out of her depths, then her eyes settled on the distant treeline. "... a tree. What about you?" she asked. Not that she cared much, but she wanted to see him struggle as well.

he would have disagreed that sarah was daft; he had met very few true fools in his life, and she did not number among them. he himself existed outside the binary of emotion, often unable to articulate or express the loathsome churning of his baser self. he had learned from others to mimic, to organize himself into some sense of cohesion — to match.
"i vould be content being a tree, ja," he murmured softly. "but i vould prefer to travel. perhaps as a bit of pollen on the back of a bee."
bemused, he glanced to her again, wondering if this line of conversation had made him an utter dullard in her eyes.

Sarah was a tad bit disappointed, because not only Mahler accepted her answer readily, he also did not have to look far for a suitable answer. She had met a man of intelligence and resources and the only thing to decide was, whether she should loathe him or envy him for that. 

The she-wolf stared thoughtfully at the freshly dug grave - a single impulse of creativity had found it's way in her rational and calculating brain. A tree or a bee, which one would the corpse become, unless some scavenger desecrated the grave and the body would become dinner, lunch, breakfast and snacks for tea. 

"Rest in peace and become, whatever you wanted to be," she told the mound and for a minute this did not feel stupid at all. But then her mathematical brain cells decided that enough was enough, picked the broom and squashed that spider of imagination. "Is that it?" she looked over at Mahler with the same sullen look of earlier. 

If he suggested some dancing and chanting or other foolishness that people might engage with corpses, he could do it all well on his own. Sarah thought that she had engaged in enough foolishness for one day.

"rest in peace, and fly as you could not in life," he uttered on the tail-end of sarah's speech. she seemed incredibly put out by mahler's antics, and he suspected he had cost himself a companion for the day. "that is all," he answered, unable to keep the humour from his lips again. 
"i vas going to see if i could find a meal," he went on, stepping lightly past the mound. "vould you care to join me?" or have i annoyed you enough? 
the unspoken question danced in his eyes; he would wait until sarah answered before he continued on.

Don't you bloody dare to return and haunt anyone! Sarah added more to Mahler's speech in her mind. In her experience the dead raised themselves from the grave or wherever they went, when they had passed beyond the veil. Still she emphasized her thought with a warning glare, just in case those remnants had other things in mind. 

A lunch was suggested and Sarah was hungry and she thought that after all this peculiar man had put her through (speak about being objective :D), he should do a favour to her. Since the dead guy could not. There was always an option to unearth him or her, but... with something fresh in future prospects... hmmm...

"Where to?" she decided to find out first, just in case Mahler was that kind of guy, who invited others to become his meals. Could not blame her for thinking that. There were people like this around.

it was a good question, and not one he was sure how to answer. "vell," he began, looking with interest to sarah. "i have never been here before. perhaps if ve follow the river, ve vill find something vorth chasing." being away from his duties at diaspora was a stress upon the man, but a refreshment all the same. and good company in his brief wandering was also welcome, though he had teased the poor woman for far longer than was necessary.

I think that they should get married. :D

Men these days. Sarah thought to herself and did a mental eyeroll, while her expression in outwardly retained a polite interest. It would have been almost inconspicious were it not for the frown that appeared the moment Mahler revealed that he had no idea, where to get food. So much for putting hopes in getting an easy meal.

"Alright. Come along," she beckoned him to follow her. "This is called Duck lake and you can make three guesses, why is it so," she told him with a wry smile as she led him along the banks towards an area were a large group of ducks were resting or quacking conversations among them. "Any good at bird-angling?" she asked him.

i love mismatched couples :D

sarah resolutely made of herself the hunt leader, and mahler was content to follow. hunger rose in his belly at the sight of the waterfowl; he gave a single nod to his companion. "diaspora surrounds a lake, vhere i have done a great deal of hunting."
it was important that the birds did not spot the hunters, for they would take to the air or speed into the center of the waters where wolves could not follow. thus the gargoyle lowered himself in preparation for the stalk, glancing to sarah that he might see what she chose to do.

You did not reply to the question. Sarah thought, as she listened to Mahler with one ear half-turned to him and eyes focussed on the path ahead. There were many lakes around, not all were home for water-fowl. So, he might have hunted a great deal of other unfeathered stuff in and around that lake, wherever his home actually was. 

"They are not particularly smart," she told. "Or strong. My best hunts have been by blending in first and appearing disinteressed. They soon forget you are there. Careful movement there, another there and you get your lunch," she did not share her hunting style willingly, but if they were going to do this together, then they needed to set some things straight first. "Do you do things differently?" she asked.

he straightened, tipping a sable ear [toward sarah as she outlined the best plan of attack. "short bursts vhen they are not looking," he admitted wryly. similar enough to her own tactics, he supposed. [color=#008000]"i vill be the muscle," he offered with a brief curve to his lips. they would bring something down this day, but mahler was content to let sarah have the lead."i vill admit, it has been some time since i hunted birds," the man went on, inadvertently confirming the creek wolf's suspicion. however, he was quick to learn and more swift than his bulk suggested; mahler knew he would be an easy student.

"Good!" this was probably the first genuine praise that Mahler heard from Sarah, though, if he knew the reasoning, I doubt that he would have felt flattered. The huntress decided that a less-weathered bird hunter was easier to train (read - boss around) than one, who was set in their ways and knew, what to do best (read - her).

Already gears in her mind were turning, plotting out the exact placement on the map, tactics and everything else. All was great, except, when they had walked quite a long way along the banks, no ducks came inside. There was a distant, mocking duck-laugh somewhere in the middle of the lake. "Bloody birds," Sarah growled to herself and then turned to Mahler.

"No lunch this time, pal," she told him, there was a bit of remorse in her voice for missing a chance to show off, but he did not have to know that. "See you around, I guess. For a different hunt," she added.

but there was nothing to be add. a bit remorseful that he had not gotten the chance to redeem himself in the woman's eyes, mahler nevertheless gave a gentle nod to her. "i vould like that, sarah," came the gentle rumble of his voice. she had been pleasant company, overwhelmingly tolerant of his antics — a good companion for all for it.
"take care,"  mahler offered, beginning to turn. though, if the woman had more to say, he would hear it. it was not often that he was able to meet creatures palatable to himself.