Sawtooth Spire the first time that i sought for grace

i danced to that :O love him

phaedra's historically loving gaze lashed at him like a viperstrike. mahler's limbs stiffened with surprise, for she had never regarded him so before. jaws parted but closed with the awareness of futility; as she sobbed, the gargoyle found he could not form words that might gentle the duress of her heartward turbulence.
"du bist ein sehr starkes mädchen. das ist gut," the stricken father began with a great unsurety propelled only by his insistence that phaedra know he was attempting to understand her small and detailed machinations.
"es ist gut, dass du so viele dinge fühlst." a pause, feeling as though he had only repeated himself; mahler reached out to press a downylight nudge against her shuddering shoulder, if the child did not pull away.
a clutch in his throat. the gargoyle raised his broad head and looked down upon his sorrow-scoured fledgling. "und ich möchte sie hören." a clumsy end, the words marching off his tongue like scuddering droplets of water, but mahler was nevertheless wholeheld by his need to explain his listening ear.