Arrow Lake mourntart

the mention of mahler did wonders for the iron wardog's mood, as what remained of his annoyance was gone in a flash and his tail lifted into a curt wag. "ah, yes," the hound drawled. "the one with two others, yet to be seen." he recalled with casual cynicism what little the mountain's resident gargoyle was able to tell him of the dark wolf he had met and allowed solace in these mountains. he wondered who the others were, and if they lingered. thorn didn't smell much like anyone else - except perhaps faintly of diaspora - but he would be sure in a moment. "will you be staying?"