Ankyra Sound it feels like you're with your father in the place you love

he had laid himself down outside his lean-to den when the witch's fearful cry broke over grimnismal. "bär," the musiker muttered to himself. kierkegaard and the sea-hag would be gathering their brats, and mahler cared little for the grotto in wylla's absence, nor the other wolves who had called it their home. 
devoid of attachment to the strand, with only the sting of how swiftly his budding connection with kierkegaard had been sundered, mahler moved in powerful lunges across the sand, opposite where the alpha pair swept their brood. his dappled form soon swallowed from frame, the man nevertheless did not pause in his run until the sea loomed far behind him.
only then did the empty wolf turn back toward grimnismal, lot's wife turned to salt as he paused and beheld for the last time the scour-chased land he had once called home. and after that, no more — mahler moved into the wild and was gone.