Sawtooth Spire I bow to no law made by men who never bore a child.

nyx was demure even in the moments directly after birth, elegant and gentle. mahler knew then he had chosen true, and chuffed a low sound of amusement. "it means 'von edler geburt,'" the shadowpriest said lowly, considering his words as he looked from the newborns to their mother. "of noble birth." for she was, both of them. their father was a king of sagtannet, and he allowed himself that small thought of incredible clutching pride.
"this the time the midvives who trained me called das stillen,'" mahler went on, settling himself near. he could be some time, yet, though even in this hour he thought of all this might entail. "the stillness. the still time."
he was quiet, content.