Arrow Lake trommelschlag

takiyok; he nudged the line of her nape as she approached, a single sway of his plume given in greeting. all was well; he allowed himself the mild flush of pleasure her company always engendered within him. "diaspora grows," the man observed, moving between the trees at a pace set for the both of them.
something tugged at the edge of his mind, perhaps a look he had seen stigmata give the winterwhite woman. one of longing. possession. but truly it mattered little whether or not he had spoken for takiyok; what she wished was tantamount.
because he did not feel like asking, because he did not feel like being given an answer he would not like, mahler turned their conversation in a different direction. "vill you go to visit the glacier again?"