Duck Lake dorn zunge

under any other circumstances, mahler would have been quite put out, abandoning his post and the strangely friendly woman at once. however, his cold lavender stare bid him closer; he gazed down at what she had discovered in the water: a collection of wet wolf-bones. while it chilled him to see, the gargyole was his usual implacable self.
whatever had claimed the beast's life, it had happened long ago. without the scent of a wolf, it was barely recognizable as such, and yet kin knew kin. it was intriguing, he decided.
"i do not," he finally responded in his usual dry way, glancing to the intelligent light of the she-wolf's eyes. "should ve bury him?" perhaps she would catch the thin bit of humour in the curve of his lips, the interest that had begun to gather in his own stare.