Arrow Lake ❝—by my blood & bone.❞ (lbr.)

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mahler stole closer as olive began to work over aurëwen, drawn by the little cries of the newborns. for the first time, he himself was transported to a place where the death of his own brood did not hurt him so badly. how small they had been! how aglow marigold was in the full flush of first motherhood! how he had felt such love for the new bodies at her side, and even now something like that first protectiveness rose in him again.
the pale mother's tears began to flow then, and while mahler himself would not experience childbirth, he was not unmoved by the gentle whispers of the two women, the way that the scarred she-wolf tenderly took to bathing her infants and bestowing names upon them.
the father arrived then, frenzied, and the gargoyle felt a brief concern for the lacerations of the other's throat. olive moved to soothe the wounded man then, granting him peace and the titles of his children, and mahler gave a quick half-smile in the gloom. "your vife is very strong," he added after the midwife's soft address, deciding then to vacate the growing smallness of the whelping den so that the dark sire might take his place at aurëwen's side.