Barrow Fields seaside, whenever you stroll along with me

by now tired of his status in the lower ranks, aware of what it would take to rise, mahler's dappled auds swept straight above his skull at the affable howl that unfurled across the nearby plains.
regardless of the call's friendly nature, the musiker tensed with the years-worn hardness of one of who had seen too harsh fighting in his time. mahler hesitated no longer; the man's broad paws carried him in a dash to the shadows of the treeline that separated grimnismal from the remainder of the melting winter world.
a trio of wolves; mahler's breath came softly as he slid into the embrace of the trees. there were a pair of his fellows here, and one a leader; the musiker offered lycaon a brief but submissive dip of his ears and muzzle before the stone of his amethyst stare turned toward the strangers that called sirenlike from across the expanse.
but when the slim, sinewy woman he had not yet seen except in passing lunged from the foliage, mahler had no pause within him. compelled to follow, a mixture of instinct and curiosity, the musiker broke into the open some feet behind the she-wolf.
pausing some short distance from her flank, the wretch turned his own flat glare upon the strangers. however, they were unassuming enough as not to hold his boredom from bay; presently mahler flicked his gaze sideways and bristled in a sudden and startling horror at the veritable scythe the woman — harpy, truly! — had cut down the interlopers!
mahler felt his gut pale with fear — he kept his gaze forward when she had turned away, snorting haughtily like a stallion at the wolves too stupid to quail. in the next moment, he followed the woman back into the borders of their territory. his stark terror of her had not abated; mahler veiled it behind his stone countenance, but within his heart the mortal fear took root and coupled itself with a deeply cutting interest.