Arrow Lake all these in-betweens that bar my youth

There was a relaxed nature to Mahler that was difficult to find elsewhere. He retained a calm understanding that smoothed any rough edges that would have been evident in his countenance. There was a worldly awareness that aged him – an insight that Trench had never felt before – and the dark young boy was appreciative of such a presence. For all of the dreadful things that had threatened his life, the grey-clad silvertongue was not one of them. Mahler had inspired young Trench, though it was not entirely positive in what kind of manner. When he spoke, the dark young child peered up at him with trust in the glimmering jade of his eyes. Though he did not fully understand, he was content there with the man.
 
With the extension of the forelimb, Trench scrambled over it as well as he could manage. The movement was enough to wind him, but when he had successfully clambered to the other side, he turned his head sharply toward Mahler. It was here that the child smiled for the first time since his birth. The motion was almost easy, as though the hints of such an expression had existed on his lips since the day he was born. There was an earnestness to him, even as a young pup. The glittering gratefulness of idolization was all that met the older wolf.