Larksong Grotto i see fire

"likevise," mahler said of her sentiment. the lands truly did feel empty, devoid of whatever spark had brought them here. it had gone with wylla. "it vas a very nice trip." one of our last. he did not say this; their travel had been pensive enough without mahler's interjection of his own woes.
"but it is still beautiful. i hope," he added with a short little laugh that echoed self-deprecation. he was not sure how to be himself in the prolonged presence of a woman, for his heart was crossed with a thousand regrets and he was ruined for it — he did not make forays with any wolf. mahler had learned to be alone, to be solitary, and now that he was given a chance to speak and to carry on a conversation, he found he was unsure of what he might say.
a pause. "i hope that many of these memories are good for you, laurel." daring, stumbling; an answering pit opening in his chest.