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

her eyes were not so much colorless as they were silver, a pair of winter-rimed stones. not stones no — aria's gaze was much too expressive to be likened to anything so hard. he watched the chagrin creep along her velveteen countenance until she turned away with an apology and an explanation.
ever literal, mahler wondered what it was she had wanted to hear, but did not mention his less-than-idle thought. "it is i who should be sorry, frau aria," mahler grunted in a self-depreciating tone. "i am not a man of many vords." it had been the same since the gargoyle's childhood: he was born a largely silent creature and saw no reason to become verbal in maturity.
"enough time to know she is alone and very young to be raisink children by herself." his tone had cooled, edged at the end with his distaste for the entire occupation of the omega role. out of propriety, mahler kept it to himself. he was not a man given over to gossip, and lapsed into another silence that he intended to extend unless questioned again by the refined tongue of the snowcoated she-wolf.