Noctisardor Bypass wild child

the child did not quite know who mahler was, only that he had been a constant. his name was only a feeling; she was alternately carried by him and toddled at his heels, until they had come to a small place.
it also smelled of milk, and she was curious, hungry at once; the little war-pup whined, downy ears flicking toward the sly denmouth as her baby-blue gaze tilted to mahler, wondering.