Jade Fern Grove You assume I'm fine, but what would you do if I

and a roar of stormcloud it was
mahler looked up at once from where he had been scenting for star. marble had been missing, but calcifer remained. he suspected she would be back once her search had come to a close for now, but felt the pang of worry in him all the same. the snows had grown less volatile and she was not young. neither was he, the gargoyle reminded himself, gathering his winterworn body up with a suprising delight — and dread.
the voice belonged to wylla; it was a tidal wave lapping at the hull of a roman ship, and it hurried the musiker along with a spryness to his step he rarely felt.
noctisardor held the scent of old earth and ancient stone, pinewood, oakenfell, and the scent of juniper carried on the cold breath of the taiga. it reminded him at once of everywhere he had ever been, and nowhere at all.
mahler slid into the icegreen shadows of the frigid grove. his heart was no less elated to see wylla than all the times before, but felt himelf pale a little beneath the sunwrath of that one eye.