Sawtooth Spire stars are not small or gentle

the joining had been swift, precise, and organized. sawtooth was theirs, and the man, general no longer, eisen now, felt something akin to satisfaction.
he spent several hours refreshing the oldest marks, stripping bark with fragrant paws, adding scuffmarks, lavender eyes glinting in the cold air.
when melkor sounded his great call over the spire, the man was silent, experiencing the wash of pleasure as first one voice, then another, joined the song.
his own spiraled out, began lowly, rising into round golden notes that greeted every reach of sagtannet.