Nova Peak jämmerlich

mooseidon.
a glut of chuckles burbled in mahler's throat; he turned his scarred muzzle aside but his shoulders rolled with it until his eyes had watered. for all her distance, phaedra was becoming an innately humorous person. mahler did not connect the cold veil with the transformation; he had uncomfortably reminded him from time to time that the disappearance of thade had caused this.
he could not forget. it had been another singular failure of his own.
ausreichend, the gargoyle told himself wearily, annoyed that he had not gotten to enjoy the moment with her as he had meant. the emotion banked once more into the soot between them, and mahler let himself fully ponder her question and its spun-sugar melancholy.
"i think anyvone might miss their family," he commented softly in a moment or so. "even vone so big as he is." even one so small as phaedra, perhaps, but his mind cut away and away and away in a near-tangible beg for reprieve.
just for now. "perhaps if we could speak his language, ve could ask him."