Phoenix Maplewood She cut too deep and she left me scarred

foolishly, mahler headed east from the wetlands, into the taiga that lay beyond. there was no searching within him now; he had found the symphony of the new territories and passed through them with grim determination behind his long strides. it was soon revealed he was not to be alone; a battle-scarred warrior, muzzle sprinkled with silver that did not detract from the imposing build, caught the musiker's gaze.
mahler had grown accustomed to the silence in which he traveled; he did not seek to draw the other's attention, merely continued at his placid clip, turning once his lilac stare upon the man as he went on.