Ankyra Sound And I'm not wearing trainers

she approached, and mahler swept back his ears when she had halted, lowering his head somewhat to proffer her a deference he had not given to lycaon. perhaps it was her place in the hierarchy — perhaps it was how her brother did not demand the respect she commanded down to her gait — perhaps she frightened him. all this and more stirred behind his implacable gaze, and he attended her correction with a nod
if she did not understand he would not seek it; mahler suspected time spent in the teekon would lessen the foreign chains around his tongue. however, the musiker scarcely had time to register this uncommon willingness to change upon hearing wylla's next dry pronouncement.
"no beds," the brute rejoined, unable to keep the scant bit of humour from his mouth, "and i am v— settling in, yes." before he could go on, the brine-tinged wind of the coastline brought with it the trail of scent that currently plagued grimnismal, and mahler felt a muscle leap in his cheek as he grit his teeth against reaction to it. "a walk?" he invited of his leader, intending that they continue in the other direction, and perhaps get clear of the maddening fragrance for a short while.
he of course, butched the 'w' in the word quite clearly.