Nova Peak jämmerlich

the deep hue of the fireweed seemed to draw mahler back. this flatter space with its burnt stumps, now ringed with moss and the trickle of blueberries, he had scouted as a rendezvous. it boasted paths that cut upward, and here the gargoyle found himself that day. 
the sun warmed through the ever-present rain that afternoon, sending sideways cascades of gold against the haze of the eternal storm. mahler picked his way carefully over the narrow paths, turned to mud now. the cry of a hawk sounded overhead, and the gargoyle paused to watch it settle in the clutches of golden-green larch trees at the edge of the field, where the trails cut down toward a stream.
what might @Phaedra think of it? she was the oldest of sagtannet's children, a fact he did not enjoy; it showed in her paws and longer limbs and he told himself her more retiring nature was also part of that, though he knew it to be more pronounced than that. a fluted howl for her then; he would let her set the terms of their explorations today.