Swiftcurrent Creek i'm in your back pocket, take me out when you get curious

the man's first reaction indeed was to toss her gently from his muzzle; mahler armed himself against such instinct, gaze narrowing to slitted lavender as her miniscule paws played 'round his lashes. the musiker's delight in such things grew tenfold at the child's vocalization; carefully he made an aural study of it.
"obacht," the variegated beast crooned back in a low rumble to her small ears. "oooooobacht." it was perhaps the most foolish sound he had made in all his life, and mahler intoned it again for the simple seeking of her repition or laughter. 
it was then that one of her batting toe-sets glanced cunningly into the corner of one lilac eye; he gave a startled and pained harumph! as he flinched involuntarily. the charcoal slope beneath her small body dipped toward the earth in some sort of unfair and sudden response to her babyish perambulation.