Sawtooth Spire the first time that i sought for grace

too belatedly mahler realized sched and now ängsdlich and it dawned finally upon him like an anchor to the descent of his own murky depths. "oh, phaedra," he muttered tearfully, the current breaking around his rockbit legs. brave child, brave mouse; mahler by turns grasped her nape or nudged her in efforts to keep a straight trajectory to the opposite bank.
grown much, and yet he gripped the girl and brought her firmly to the solidity of ground, pausing alongside phaedra with a relieved grunt before he stepped aside to shake out his thick pelt. he scarcely let her from his gaze; poor sodden baby thing. mahler swallowed the tremulo of tears in his throat and put his crown down to brush hers with an exhale.
"du bist nicht schlecht. sie sind mutig. du bist gut," he repeated halfway in a flurry of feeling. and i do not want to lose you. not now. not ever.