Nova Peak jämmerlich

mahler considered phaedra's question carefully, even as a shift of his heavy paws saw fit to point them grottobound. "es ist eine innere art von gefühl," he began. directions and their points were taught, and then internalized, insofar as he might see.
it almost felt as though little had come between them — mahler reveled in this feeling as they paced between the stands of yellowbark trees, the scent of taiga loam and impending frost upon the wind buoying him somewhat. sagtannet had found its place to settle, it seemed. the months to come would shift such for him, and for wylla, but now there was no awareness of this.
"schau hoch," the gargoyle urged, not into the eye of the sun, but the way it tuned the shadows cast by the treeline to their eyes. "die sonne geht im osten auf und geht im westen ins bett." an old adage, but one that had not yet failed mahler. a look to phaedra now; he held himself back from his usual loquacious explanation, waiting to ensure she followed the trail of his thought.