Larksong Grotto prüfung

Pealing laughter ensued from Mahler, this seemingly the boy's métier. Astraeus drew back his lips — the dulcet presence of the peewee menace proves enjoyable company. Rescinding himself from fleet-footed thoughts, fixed ( perhaps momentary ) engrossment now on his tutor, as Mahler whiffed a peculiar depression in the trail.
— ah, so it is luck that proves when stalking! If they needed luck, his eisen should have sowed four-leaved clovers around the peak and wove low leguminous herbs in his coat. A clover-woven, braided-belly gargoyle. He titters; the cragsman not the wiser.

"vhat do you think of this place, astraeus?"​

The imp mulls on the question. Especially since the skarp is asked of nothing lest to cooperate. There was that beaten spirit he'd felt before at that solemn gathering, like an arid apartment party with no previously promised provisions. Spire-wolves therein carrying heavy hearts gainst' heaving breasts, nursing this sinking feeling. Shoo! Off off! he had scolded this infectious indisposition, this witcher spell! As an innocent youth he couldn't understand their wallowing;
he understood nothing most the time. Nothing but crawlies, flora, and fauna. 

His pace dallies. "i like id, i can see a bunch more tings," as if to prove this, Astraeus studies the prints again. "i never'd see hoof print before'd," he twinkles. "i never ate any-ting with a hoof before'd!"