Bitterroot Valley tragische

his chest was beginning to ache, but mahler was loathe to admit any sort of weakness to the woman, not when she had evaded his own strides. powerfully, grimly; the gargoyle was somber, strong legs churning at her side. it seemed neither of them was ready to break, not yet, and the musiker was committed to the pitting of swift against swift. onward they ran, some dark delight still beating in tandem with his blood.