Wild Berry Meadow o, how my flesh summers

At the next query, she’d begun to shrug; to loll her head in the universally elusive manner of “Perhaps?” But before the silver could answer, the other blanchard hastened in another question — a great, greyed wolf, lilac eyes, scarred. For a moment, Aurëwen hesitated ...but she couldn’t truly see what the matter would be.

”Oh, yes, Mahler,” she trilled breezily, drawing a rosy tongue down a long forelimb. “That scowler still resides in ze spires. Whatever for?” She knew nothing of the expectant before her — was she in search of a midwife, as the herbalist herself had been? Were they related in some way? By blood, or some other sort of relation?

Of course, this she-wolf held the right to not portend any information to the silver. But Aurëwen supposes that she was surprised that others... knew of Mahler. lmao