Phantom Hollow ausbessern

mahler knew no name save for moonspear. and now neverwinter, he supposed, looking down in a dour way as she sank her diminished limbs into the snow. cold would leech away whatever strength remained in her build, and mahler, not wanting to make demands upon her but knowing he could not allow such to happen, moved closer.
she spoke of a daughter and a lost son. something unnameable and ferocious swelled in mahler; he thought fiercely of thade and of phaedra, and when he blinked, gaze filling with miriam's faded form, his voice crept up from the depths of anguish. "my son vas lost. for a long time," the gargoyle told the neverwinter woman gruffly. "but he came home. and my daughter never left, but —" pensive tightening against the sorrow that reached into his own lilac stare, "sometimes they find vays to depart us all the same."