Swiftcurrent Creek i am not the kind of girl who should be rudely barging in on a white veil occasion

no worries!

she called to him. mahler blinked impassively above the hare he held, but approached all the same. she was a winter's day in the lingering warmth of summer, armed with an ice-licked gaze and one she turned upon him. it was somehow both knowing and wary; mahler felt himself prickle beneath it but drew closer in spite of the sensation.
"i did not mean to stare, frau," the gargoyle murmured, when he had set down his burden. and there he fell silent, pondering what it was she would say. he had been upon his own tasks; perhaps she needed assistance with her own? it did not occur to the musiker that the pale woman only wanted to know him as her packmate.