Arrow Lake trauern

buoyed by the gentle pressure of her seeking muzzle, the movement of her lips against his nape, mahler was malleable to ketzia's need. but when she spoke of his children, stone flowed into the lines of his body. he had not protected his children, but run from the malady that had consumed their small bodies. it was a shame he held within his deepest heart, one against he would guard the remainder of his life.
"i vould go on, raise them to remember their father," he murmured softly against the bulb of one creamy ear, drawing her close against him. it was good to touch, he decided, to be touched, though he feared giving himself too freely would lead to improper allusions being drawn from his openness.
he did not pull away from ketzia, however; he sighed a great sound and blinked away the faint threat of tears. "i vill make diaspora a testament to vhat he vas, to who he vas. to who i am," he added, an afterthought falling droplike into the space between them.