Larksong Grotto Lokasenna

after visiting with each of his sons, mahler had taken a patrol that had not ended in days, walking around the baseline of the peak, within earshot if he was summoned. but filled with a bittersalt determination, he had spent the time setting endless plans for how he might prove to wylla the truth in his heart.
the gargoyle had no belief that her mind might be changed, not after all that had happened between them. it had been long weeks since their clashing, but — he was coming to a time of it, a knowing of how he could best do this.
and so the shadowpriest turned inward, wearily, but with a small ember burning in the darkhaunt of his chest. he would have disappeared into the spruce forests climbing the nearby slope had not a voice rung out.
though close, it was the words that captured mahler; he had not heard his own tongue from another besides phaedra. and so the man turned his trajectory, drawing closer to the grotto and its avian inhabitants. 
"hier ist keine tochter außer meiner."