Barrow Fields shine a light into the wreckage

marigold regarded him from the glowing space beyond the figure of the prostrate boy, and mahler felt the telltale tremble of his jaw began, as was usual when he considered her. straightening, the musiker parted lips to call to her ashen form once more, but pain rippled weakness along his limbs. how foolish he had been, but it was all in guardianship of his shoreline. or so he told himself; mahler still was unsure of what had compelled his heavy snap toward the insolent boy in the fields.
gathering but a smattering of what the cherub was murmuring, the grimnismal wolf lay back against the cool snow. it quelled for a moment the burning beneath his hide, the heat that prised his jaws open in a low and panting laugh, for marigold; she had tried so to bring joy to mahler. "ich komme, taube."