Ankyra Sound from the darkest stars that force you

wylla had not come back.
mahler had sought within himself to excise every emotion regarding the little she-wolf's departure, but had failed, becoming despondent and retreating to some half-built shelter far removed from his packmates. he did not think it was some unrequited affection that had sundered his being, though mahler remembered very little of its feel. the musiker was no lover of such harsh shifts in any form, let alone the structure and leadership of his pack. he had grown dour, suspicious, his great frame absent from the shoreline as he fretted in the darkness. 
yet it was a heavy tread that now carried mahler with an angered confidence toward the grotto where the witch and his own countryman made their nest. from her he would demand leave to seek who he felt to be the rightful leader of grimnismal. there was hesitance within him at alienating kierkegaard with such brashness; mahler had only just found his voice with the ghost.
so perturbed, his pelt somewhat bedraggled with disregard, the dappled wolf drew near enough to spot the gorgon. but he sensed she was not alone. settling himself in open view of her, near but not so that the witch would rout him, mahler hunched like some miserable fiend, head lowered between his shoulders as wordlessly he allowed caiaphas' very presence to become a desperately needed distraction.