Sawtooth Spire You took my hand and we pretended like I was your guy

for the time being, mahler was set alone to his devices. his steps, though tired, became decisive, and soon the musiker coursed over the slopes to windholme and immediately plunged into the shallows.
the cold was invigorating; mahler shook water from his pelt and dashed up the bankside, taking himself upon another tour of beautiful sagtannet.
pleased to find wylla's trail near the rushing of a riverfeed, mahler paced after the delicate track she had left, upward into the stony cuts of mountainside.
where he found her appealingly curvaceous form silhouetted against the last glow of a dying sun.