Sleepy Fox Hollow [m] i am sorry my love's too much for you

and spurred mahler was, the years pouring from him. he was a musiker once more, and his muse was the perfection of wylla as she danced around him, winding closer with the lithe grace of the guardian he had first seen upon the sea.
no time for he to care either; his embrace was sure, beautiful in its familiarity; he rumbled against the base of her ear in the language always sprung eternal;
meine liebe, ich gehöre für immer dir.
and with that mahler drew them both into it, the pleasant waltz they had so offered one another, and the sensation of it so very dear to him in his love and closeness that soon he ceased to know where they separated and where they did not; until it was only them burning gold in the arc of pale fogbanks in the gilded morning.