Sleepy Fox Hollow lächeln

but he did hear such things, and lifted his dripping muzzle to regard tense wylla for a confused moment. why had she come upon him just now, of all times? briefly irritated, mahler smothered it from his expression and straighted with a nod of his scarred head. "vylla. how is the day treating you?"
formality, formality — it was quite often the saving grace for mahler, and it was upon this he fell back now. the routine of conversation was structured, rigid, routine; it provided a good deal of relief for the gargoyle in trying times, such as this one. 
knowing she was well able to chew him as he was now, and spit him out into a naked form, mahler quailed within himself with a thrill he could not help. 
he was suddenly parched, to the marrow, though his lips remained wet from his earlier draught.