Larksong Grotto i see fire

the silence filled and became a wheeling thread of constellations and their quiet.
mahler too fell into his own contemplations, namely of wylla and how he had never gone to moonspear. selfish to the bitterwrought end of all things.
he heard the jagged cut of her breath and watched as her face began to shift and become more than herself, visage fracturing. the charcoal ears fell back. mahler had not meant to transform laurel so; she seemed stricken, growing evermoreso as the seconds darted past.
the gargoyle had heeded the silent warding away of her body upon their entire journey here. he had kept a perimeter of space between the pair of them; he was her leader and companion, and she needed not feel more pressured to experience him in any other regard.
he also did not know what he might say; he had said enough! too much!
in the end, the graf only moved closer, settled down in their path upon his haunches, and did not reach to touch her. i am here, said the noiseless heavy lines of his figure.