Sawtooth Spire drittgeborener

Though faint in his wee memory, the scent of Mahelr was recognizable. His lids breaking the film of eye boogers, he grumbled as he found his legs again and stumbled excitedly over, though pensive at the thought of making friendly gesture. Though his milk-giver was gone, Mahler's presence lingered in that lonesome place, why was here now? Nipping as hard as puppy teeth could, he romped between his legs, sniffing and licking his ankles profusely. Never taught to play proper, he was rather ill-mannered.