Sawtooth Spire and so she spoke chiding the heart in her breast

life had settled into a familiar pattern, broken only by phaedra's cold regard of him. or how she had been since the move to their new locale. mahler mulled over this; he set it aside for a brisk swim in the cold currents of windholme, a much-needed shock to a body he felt had become rather middle-aged and slow.
a hunt to be had, though the eisen found himself distracted by the young howl that spiraled up over the wild trees of the sawtooth land. a charcoal ear flicked, and then he had set off with light steps toward the sound. it seemed to have come from a familiar throat, though mahler could not place the name.
there was a pallid girl at his borders; she wore moonwrought eyes and smudged darkness beneath them. hard for her age, scarred. knowingness filled him, and mahler stepped forward. "i know your face."