Broken Boulder It's kinda funny,

mahler listened. a kingdom bearing a schism. nobles. caste. a language that belonged to one above and never allowed the ascension of another. he felt as though he understood some detailing more around the latticework of asra. and so she had been a commoner, a peasant, to toil beneath a privileged eye and never knew more.
"i have no expectations," he told her kindly. "i too have only known vone thing. vone vay of being. and so this too for me is new." each wolf in rivenwood would learn it. or they would not; they would depart. 
mahler would remain.
"you come from a land that inspires far-off tales," the gargoyle remarked. "perhaps that is vhy you have a penchant for them."