Sawtooth Spire süße augen

mahler lied on his resume about his teaching experience D:

astraeus was growing into a very proud child indeed. mahler somehow did not mind, for he saw the realm of children as below him, but he did not care for the boy's treatment of phaedra. call it tradition or patriarchy, he could not stifle the rankling irritation that washed over him. and then a different sort at his daughter's beginning lift to mutiny.
it passed; he chided himself, and blinked at the pair. astraeus had completely forgone the missive, and he flicked his eyes to phaedra. warmed anew by her lilting command of the language they already shared, mahler shook his head. "that is sick. you vere very sick. but "die" is quiet. stillness. like if you vent to sleep and did not avaken."
during the telling of this, astraeus gave a a sheepish return, and mahler gave him a fond look. he could not yet tell what the boy made of the substitute father that was the charcoal-grey eisen of sagtannet, but strove to always favor the child in the same way as his wild pair.
a true loomcraft of appropriate tales for little ears. but that was the way, was it not? tell a small one directly the worst thing that might arise of their poor choice. no demurring the severity.
thus unblunted, mahler grunted and gathered himself to a larger height. "vould you like to visit vindholme now, both of you?" he offered, a river-trip to make things somewhat more exciting. poor phaedra. the gargoyle expected she might be rather through with this lesson's locale, as he had become, but expected more questions upon their earlier subject, and tilted a battleworn ear to listen.