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

the man listened, growing neutral and impassive as he had once always been in grimnismal. these past years had done much to soften him, but mahler had yet retained more than a touch of the old stone. it turned his gaze into flat lilac as he looked out over the beauteous view that wylla had chosen. he did not know what else to offer her, for mahler in his burgeoning stubbornness saw her attempts to change what was as an injustice.
why did she persecute him when he had told her all before she had made her choice of him? wylla could have sought any man to father her two; it was him she had chosen, and he who had answered. mahler had pledged himself to their children and by that end had done as well as any other man could have done. 
nyx did not wish him in that way, mahler knew. she had made no overtures beyond invitation to be their father, and he had seen only the right of it. a sable ear flicked; the man knew he must answer in some way, and at last rolled his shoulders to straighten proudly beneath the intense sunlight of her gaze.
so. she would doubt his love again.
a breath, a blink.
"in the meantime, i vill do vhat i can to explain this to them both," the gargoyle murmured in a hunted tone, moving upright. for a moment he looked upon her, how the glow haloed her pelt and how his heart was moved for her again, but the expression writ in her gaze chased his own away, and if wylla had nothing more to add, mahler would depart back to some lonely copse along the furthest border to consider all that had been said.