Larksong Grotto prüfung

The argent draws his unfurling crown skybound, lolling that puckish tongue; implike, rascally!
Ah, but prompt hideaway, lest his eisen want of it. Good-natured  (and evenly bad)  wit, this unknowingly instilled trait, surely from neither of his maternal halves, mayhaps paternal? Need not question who this papa and what his clan may be; 
whereinsoever there is nonparelil nominee; already beside him —

A daint hop o'er these boulders does Astraeus suppose that he is what he is to his milk-kin, a:
"Dat's okay, Papa,"
therein born from a prudent pause, lashes unveil emerald bleeding to blue. He thinks not of what the spire-queen would feel of it, or what the honey-daubed slyph in turn, those quirkish lips chart a grin no short of verity and fervor;
"When I get real bigger, I can carry you!"