Arrow Lake fall down a rabbit hole

his expression grew somber as ketzia spoke; a child within the den perhaps was failing. one of stigmata’s, yes, but more than that, he was a child of diaspora.
her children were too young yet to venture far from the denmouth without the watchful eye of an adult over them, and so mahler took up his skin of herbs and waited to be admitted.
when ketzia had presumably allowed him entry or brought forth her son, mahler crouched over the boy. ”i vill ask some questions now,” he warned, arranging the minuscule limbs for the child’s best comfort. ”how long has he been like this?” the gargoyle murmured, sniffing the breath at the tiny muzzle, lowering his own to prod gently at the small stomach. ”vhen did he last eat? and his vaste, vhen he excretes: does it seem normal or bitter to you? lastly, how is his urination?”
such questions were necessary to assess the boy’s situation; it could be a mere fever stealing his energy, or something more insidious, and presently he glanced to ketzia with an encouraging expression. ”i am sorry to bombard you, frau.”