Sawtooth Spire We wrote and we wrote, 'til there were no more words.

time was not in great supply, but his eyes needed to be here. with windholme more torrential this time of year, he had wondered after the safety of the remaining cubs. and so when the lioness called, he attended, tail swaying at his hocks. "hello, little vones," he greeted toward the pair, gaze lifting to nyx.
why had she summoned him, he wondered. perhaps for his company. and for her sake, mahler would be warmer. his reticence had grown to great heights; he sought hermitage where possible. but now he was hers, for the present, and smiled softly toward the golden wolfess.