Sawtooth Spire there's lots of middle ground between the kings and centipedes

today mahler was full of a trepidation. he had placed sagtannet into a situation that might prove untenable: two litters, sired by himself, but between two mothers, and not without their own foggy history.
mahler had no true grasp upon the breadth of the issues between wylla and nyx, save for a vague memory of tension within grimnismal. 
despite this, he found he did not regret his choices. nyx was a valued individual who had earned her right to motherhood through firm work and loyalty. in doing so she had also garnered his affection.
and wylla. in him was a great flame for her fierce raw ways, one that burned hot and unquenchable. he was utterly smitten. 
he did not understand either of them.
loud little phaedra. calm baby thade. they charmed the craggy gargoyle and he was quick to relieve wylla of parental tasks wherever possible. today was no different; mahler approached the den as she departed, brimming with soft feeling for all of them. 
and there on the stoop was his tiny daughter, enlivened with a new pair of murky blue marbles, and vibrating with adorable growls. "nun, süße ente," the gargoyle grunted, sliding forearms to either side of her round body as he lay down, half-inside the den. he always lapsed thankfully into his proper tongue when alone with his children, perhaps a bit rebelliously. "was siehst du?" 
he looked warmly down upon phaedra as he spoke, lavender eyes quite lacking his usual coolness.