Sawtooth Spire zweiter teil

a wolverine! he wanted to laugh again and speak one foolish little rhyme or another, but as he saw the direction in which his snowbloom went, mahler found a more thoughtful silence. he wondered what of this fel and wild place was truly held in the magnitude of phaedra's memories; he himself could point to harder and more resonant moments in both nova and rivenwood. and yet this had been the place of her birth and her first days, where she had come to her love of flowers, her adoration of stag.
her fear of the cold waters; yes, he remembered how they had made the silverford journey together.
and so he only followed, lilac stare drifting through the summermade beds, and how even the blossoms here wended toward wildland and cacophony.
perhaps that had been the true beauty of sagtannet; its unfettered towering and the glint of evergreen snow high in its sainted reaches.
he lowered his broad scarred head to seek among the flowers, smiling sidelong at phaedra but not truly willing to speak until she had said a word, a sound, in condemnation or adoration of what once had been.