Arrow Lake relict

mahler's skin prickled beneath blodreina's dirge.
the last week had passed uneventfully; he stood now in complete silence, stillness, water rolling from his lips to splash noiselessly back into the lake. it had been calm, and now, now his legs would not leave the shallows, now he was rooted, riven with a knowingness that clutched nausea in his gut.
he could not.
and yet he was a leader of diaspora, and silt clung to his paws as he turned violently away from the shimmering surface to answer where the warrioress had beckoned. her voice was joined by that of another, and by turns he fought the sense of dread and accepted it, pausing to grab from a nearby cache of herbs as directed by his healer's heart. if there was something that could be done, he would do it.
blood; its reek filled the air, choking mahler. and though his senses told him already, already, the gargoyle shouldered himself through the throng of wolves and children to lay his gaze upon the lifeless husk of his kill-brother, already stiffening in the congealing mass of blood that had poured from his torn throat.
monarch — she too was shrouded in the crimson, as if she were being reborn into the coldness of a stark new world. takiyok stood near, helpless; mahler dragged his empty gaze to her for a moment before crouching down beside stigmata. there was nothing to be done. father brother general, ambitious basilisk, the patriarch of diaspora — how could he have ended in a series of bloodstained moments?
mahler was uncomprehending; numbly he reached to nuzzle monarch's small ears, before straightening to address them all with a garble to his usually crisp tones: "ve vill bury him vhere he fell."
a sweep of his eyes over those that had remained; mahler tilted his voice skyward then, the song of stigmata burgeoning forth with stentorian strength from his chest even as his eyes, finally, filled with saltwater that rushed unabashedly down his face.