Otatso Wetlands das himmlische leben

with their closeness confirmed, mahler was not unaware of the emotions that churned through the boy — he simply reflected none of them, his appraisal a simple search for that which he found beautiful. amused that he should have cast off the idea of this one's interest in him, mahler saw instead the truth of the other's movements, the swish of his plume, the hesitance in his voice, and yes, the fascination in the cherub's gaze. wondering briefly what about himself should inspire another to this sort of awe, the musiker was warmly pensive, quiet after alarian had blurted his compliment.
mahler did not consider himself beautiful, nor much of anything. he knew his size and visible strength were of asset to the wolves with whom he chose to run; something in him must be of interest, or — the man pulled his thoughts from her. another time. refocused upon the boy who thrummed with such feeling before him, the varicolored statue spoke.
"mahler. thank you, and thank you also for tending me, alarian. the vounds have since healed vell," the beast added, uncrossing his forelegs so that his companion might see the clean scarring where his flesh had been seized by teeth.