Broken Boulder endless me, endlessly

mahler split his time between claiming the boulderwood and patrolling the slopes of sagtannet. he was not sure what day it was; he had used wylla to mark the time, and now stood staring down into the creek that wended in a soft curve through the clearing and back into the woodland.
his reflection was unkind but somehow welcome: a man moving into the settled prime of his fifth year, muzzle beginning to grey gently, though he suspected it was due to the stresses he had caused. scars tangled and knotted, some visible, some beneath his coat. the pair of cold eyes that seemed these days to hold no luster.
mahler blinked, reached out impetuously to dash his image from the silvered surface.
where did you go?
when he came back to the cracked stone it was to see sequoia, gazing toward the mountain. "have you been inside this place?" mahler asked softly, wishing to distract them both as he began to pad down the narrow darkened corridor between the halves of rock.