Redsand Canyon düster

the specter stood before him, flush with grace even as mahler felt himself thick and clumsy.
her eyes were large, dark, obsidian in the eldritch glow of moonlit winter.
they drew; they drank, and he felt himself drain to settle upon attentive haunches as the phantom fell into an impassioned monologue.
she spoke of foxes, of snow, of feelings not every yet considered by the gargoyle.
turn by turn he found himself fascinated, even when her words had slowed and he knew her as one of the courtiers in attendance to her,
aurëwen — she could not forbid him now. "i am mahler," he granted in return. tundra — a cold vision to fit the image before him.
"vhy do you vander tonight?"