Bitterroot Valley tragische

he was content with her admission, not taking a moment to wonder at her lack of comfort. mahler knew he was strange; it had been said often of him. but it did not mire the man in his own tribulations; he had learned to be at peace with himself. 
a grunt of assent sounded as the man lowered his muzzle in a bow. the brilliant firelight of her eyes were met with the stony lilac of his own, and then mahler began to move away, expecting she would head in the direction of the glacier now.