Arrow Lake windlied

the thin trail of ego's scent was beginning to ebb; mahler's lips set in a cold, grim line, but onward he searched. here were the scents of the many children in diaspora, and it was their presences that engendered such a desperation in mahler. the number of cubs was equal to the grown wolves of the pack, and with winter looming too closely even with a season and a half between, the general was beginning to fret.
he drew up @River's trail, and followed it into the weald, heart heavy as he knew the little one was rife with grief, bereft as they all were.

Sorry for the wait I am the worst. ;A;

 
River had more questions than she had answers; death was still an all-encompassing enigma to the grief-ridden child. She occupied a grassy spot not too far from where her father laid at rest, her gaze trained upon the settled mound that marked his grave. 

Preoccupied the inner-workings of her comprehension, she almost didn't realize that Mahler was approaching. Quietly she woofed in greeting, as she lifted her head from her outstretched forelimbs.

never!

he came to sit beside her, then to lay, much as he had with takiyok. for a long moment he said nothing, gazing pensively at stigmata's grave. what words would be apt? what could he say to a child who had lost her father so suddenly, so violently?
"i miss him too," mahler sighed, lifting chin from his own forelegs. "he vas my brother, you know. not in blood," the gargoyle went on, turning his gaze to river, "but ve made siblings of each other all the same."