Arrow Lake tomorrow will be worse

the moon had rankled him; mahler lifted a lip at it, but was otherwise still, muzzle raised to inspect the trajectory of the darkening sky. it was not fear that gripped him, rather an annoyance of how the event might scatter nearby prey, brainless things without the sense to know that this happened every handful of years.
the man soon lost interest; tail lashing at his hips, mahler strode for the border. there he found the gilded finch, the proud-eyed ketzia, and a newcomer the colour of rainclouds. another female for stigmata's harem, and allowing himself an inward, private chuckle, the gargoyle approached with a nod to the first two she-wolves in recognition of their rank.
the stranger was not male, therefore mahler felt no reason to flaunt his place atop the hierarchy before her beyond a brief flick of his plume. cold lilac eyes burned silently in her direction, appraising her hale body and intelligent gaze. but he had not heard what offerings she made to diaspora; therefore, she might find it prudent to repeat them, though his body bore not a hint of aggression in this moment — merely a careful silence.