Arrow Lake all these in-betweens that bar my youth

"trench," mahler repeated, somehow chastised by the child's quiet firmness. he had forgotten himself in his own ramblings; they were meant for his ears, not the small budding self that he held within his embrace. presently, mahler cast about for some scrap or bone upon the floor, and drew up a long twig which he laid before trench.
"now, vhat is this thing, do you think?" the gargoyle murmured, a smile flowing to perch in his lavender eyes as he regarded the boy with anticipation of what might come next.