Sawtooth Spire when i've always been distant, and i've always told lies for love

How was thinking of children falling to their death more palatable than the subject of his mother? Stag's throat tightened, electricity burning down his nape.

"Oh." His tone fell flat; he didn't like thinking of Phaedra being chucked Lady-Macbeth style over the rocks. That dark thought was chased out by the light of opportunity Mahler offered -- a day trip, past the rendezvous. Stag's large ears perked. "Oh," He repeated, this time more upbeat. "That'd be fun! When they're old enough, I mean."