Bitterroot Valley tragische

it had never occurred to mahler once in his life that his literal nature was a source of annoyance for those around him. to be direct was to be wise — if one could not communicate aptly with their peers, the words were wasted. patrolling; a task he did not understand. sweeping forward his charcoal ears, mahler contemplated her inquiry for a long moment.
"no. i run for pleasure." and one he had not felt in some time. he and this fierce woman were soon to be neighbors, it seemed, but mahler was unsure whether or not he should inform her of this. perhaps her pack would take his land, that which he had staked for the future. "i am mahler." 
an apology for his brusque manner — whether or not the pale woman would take it as such remained to be seen.