Barrow Fields the worst thing about prison was the dementors

no problem! <3

much swifter than mahler, more ribbonlike to his cement-sluggish river of reaction, the sylph darted around him, pressing her pelt against his own in so gentle a touch that the man scarcely believed it had happened. and here she was now, at his side, her features alit with some gentle teasing, a soft challenge. 
his ears swept back against his broad head, but shame was not the cause, nor irritation — mahler had merely never been in the presence of one so outwardly delighted by his very company. schüchternheit dug her painful little claws into his shoulder, but mahler sunk his head between his shoulders, his expression shifting from his usual half-dour quietude to one of an apprehensive pleasure.
he wished to enjoy whatever it was presently occurring, enjoy the gleam of her eye and the way her smile radiated warmth across her pleasant features like rising sunlight. however, mahler had not the words nor the bearing for such frisking antics — or perhaps he had not tried, and did not wish to stir himself to try. but she received a brightening of his countenance as the moments passed, mahler slowly budding into something like a more visible delight.