Moonspear ᵐᵗᵐᵖʰ dornröschen (mtr.)

when they parted, mahler was bereft, empty, hollow in all ways; he had given her the last of himself and came away with nothing but the remembered clasp of her body. teeth against her nape, then lips against cheek; he gathered her close to breathe in the scent of her, the loam-tendrils, the honeysuckle, wild vanilla; all the things he had come to attribute to the sylph.
they lay to listen.
diaspora beckoned.
mahler whispered a gentle rasp of mother-tongue to andraste now
— ich werde zu dir zurückkehren —
diaspora called.
upon the horizon at length he turned back to look upon moonspear, pierced by his recollections, but he must carry now the echo of their words away to the mountain where his blood burned.