Moonspear ausländer

your friend — her words a knifelike lance through his heart. mahler remained reserved, distant; afloat upon the cadence of hydra's voice. lightning from the heavens, and it had seared aurëwen. a healer had attended her. surely he must go to her now! but no, no; the queen guarded her stricken charge with a zealousness he would have admired more had not his instincts cried that he could not be kept upon the border.
a long, slow blink of his lilac eyes as mahler sorted through all that hydra had given him. for now, the dove —
— his friend
— she breathed, and for that, he was grateful. the mountainwolves had done well. hydra asked after the bird, but the foremost of her inquiries were after his own intentions. the man tilted his head. "i am diaspora's general. vhy vould i jeopardize my standing vith a queen?"
but the woman wished more; of himself, what could he tell? his tongue belonged hardly to himself, his words veiled; what else might she wish. "i vhelped her children," mahler added softly. "aurëwen is a dear companion." would hydra require more of him, and if so, the gargoyle was bereft — what could he give? 
the raven before him could not be wooed with flatters; mahler meant his words true, but they were for aurëwen also, that he might be admitted now by hydra, and go to her side. 
"as for the bird, it is hers, ja?" to whom else could such a curious creature belong?