Sawtooth Spire the first time that i sought for grace

only 4 u

she shouted, and his heart hurt; she shouted, and he felt the edges of himself untangle. poor phaedra, poor piping fierce girl. he held her close, lifting a broad arm to keep her tight against his heart. she had the fiery nature of wylla but his tongue; the cool ways of her mother and the vying mind of her father. she was an amalgamation of the things he saw in himself and that which he loved in the woman he had kept in his soul since grimnismal.
how could he then argue with the way that phaedra felt, even clumsily articulated? he could not. mahler lowered his muzzle to kiss her small crown, allowed her forehead its rest in the wide spread of chestfur for as long as she wished. "willst du jetzt nach hause gehen, zuckermaus?" the shadowpriest rumbled in his baritone.
back to thade and mama, back to where perhaps things were good rather than bad. mahler fretted that she would never move beyond this moment, that forever she would remember it; he was determined that she see the sweetness of it also in a look-back, and so regardless of what she said in response, mahler held his tiny daughter and was still.