Silver Moraine get a move on

a voice rang out harshly against the cold air of the morraine, and mahler's ears cupped forward. he had not expected the femininity of the tones, but then again, the musiker had always been a poor judge of what consituted a woman. or perhaps he had only forgotten; after all, der kinder—
a click of his jaws, an audible reminder to keep that particular place gated, and he was approaching the woman on broad dark paws. his silver-dusted hackles lifted only momentarily, a warning that he would dissuade any attack, real or feigned, with violence, and then mahler settled to browse her features with a neutral assessment. "are you from nearby?" the gargoyle rumbled, opting to be direct with his brusque companion. there was little need to waste time belonging to either of them with the idle small talk too often engaged in during first meetings.