Arrow Lake Birds don't fly, they soar

mahler did not immediately answer; once the woman had given consent to his ministrations, the gargoyle turned to pad away.
her voice paused him; the man turned to regard her over one heavy shoulder before "mahler" rolled into the cold air.
he returned with a stiff cracked skin rolled loosely around half-wilted herbs. in diaspora's time, the man had placed various caches of the medicinal variety about the lake, and knew still where they remained, though by now many of them had been lost to the snows and the shifting.
briefly irritated to see he had very little for binding muscles, mahler settled at her flank and glanced up at the tense zarya, awaiting her permission before he began. "the earthquakes came. ve lost some to the falling stones."