Barrow Fields shine a light into the wreckage

the prancing form in the distance found the ground for foolishly tripping paws, and though mahler could find no amusement in him, he was grimly satisfied all the same. he had not expected the waifish thing to rise, to approach; the dappled hackles bristled fiercely along mahler's broad shoulders, and he lifted a dark lip to unsheath gleaming teeth in the single warning he would grant the child.
honeyed, androgynous, the cherub peered somberly at mahler, announcing what the musiker knew to be true. it was not a statement he wished to accept, however. hard lavender gaze raked the boy's face, noting the hint of glossy interest there. "i vill be fine."
his were cold tones, the lap of seawater against grimnismal. move along, he might have well said, recalling kierkegaard's stoic nature. perhaps it would suit mahler to utterly veil himself as he once had. the thought shifted to a whisper, and beyond the narrow sandy plane of the boy's shoulder, he saw marigold's inviting grey features, the glow of her pale green eyes. "ehefrau?" mahler whispered wonderingly toward her shade, conjured by the fire beginning to rage in his chest. the boy sadly went quite forgotten for a moment.