Sawtooth Spire It's only been about a couple of days

sweet, stubborn wylla. lovesick a moment, mahler was infinitely amused to see that this was the sort of spat a husband and wife must have, though very wisely he kept it to himself.
"there is already a cache here," he remarked as the pair climbed higher, hoping to assuage at least some part of wylla with the promise of food. the climb appeared to have cost her a good deal of energy, and replenishment might aid her in seeing the spire more clearly.
"if half the paths are dead ends, that means there are fewer true trails that might reach the valley. and," his eyes were warming further and further despite himself, "the foothills vill keep prey within the flatlands."
a pregnant silence followed, for eventually the terrain reoriented itself, straightened into a smoother path that widened and led into the heart of sawtooth itself.
from here, a dizzying view of the teekon, but moreover: stone shelves that lined the edges of footpaths, a great pure expanse of snowbound valley marked only by earlier journeys left by himself and stag and melkor.
trees that already promised an infusion of color when the sun returned; small alcoves that would be carpeted green, and a river flowing into a lake at the center of it all, flaring into a trio of proud falls that churned water in a cascade down the side of the mountain.
there would be little need to descend, once ensconced.
mahler looked to wylla, silent.