Honeyed Pasture feel right

the man summoned him; mahler sought to hide his surprise. he approached without wariness; his lavender eyes appraised the other with a brief roam before the musiker lifted his gaze skyward. with this nearness, the spectre of the nighttime avian loomed larger. presently, mahler regarded the white wolf with a thinly arched brow — why? was his silent inquiry.
his dappled hackles bristled as he tracked the bird's trajectory; perhaps in a rare spate of charity that was self-serving, the sharkbait would aid his kin in the pursuit and dispatch of the odd thing. such beings could not be suffered to live, a judgement mahler did not share with the pale man.