Shadow Mountain Night Cafe for lonely cynics

likewise, mahler was searching for prey that would fill diasporan bellies. small game would not do for new caches — he feared the herds had poured out of the sunspire in response to the changing world.
some days past, there had been a great roar, a blotting of autumn hues in the cold sky o’er the taiga. grimly he had watched, unsure of what it could be. and had eventually circled back to his wolves none the wiser.
the ignorance, the unsurety; mahler was weary, and fear had begun to worm its way beneath the hard barrier around his spirit.
the gargoyle padded along the  sharp ridges, lavender eyes burning for the smallest shift of movement that might spell the difference between life and death for diaspora.