Sleepy Fox Hollow nothing

The adolescent-near-manhood attempted to dole out his most weighted stare, and River was not polite enough to pretend that it was working on her. She stared back at him, almost amused, waiting for the eventual exhale and loosening of his stance. It did not take long.

Mahler’s son. Interesting.

Well, unfortunately, I’m not his niece by blood. He and my father were brothers by choice. And Mahler helped raised me when my father died. She shook her head when offered to see the old man. No, let him be. I just like to know he’s still around. Besides, he’s ancient. I’d never forgive myself if that old wolf slipped and broke a hip on his way to see me. I’ll run into him sometime.

Her tail wagged a little to show her pseudo-cousin a bit of goodwill. So what’s your name, son of Mahler?