Silver Moraine get a move on

he was off again, this time headed slowly toward the coasts gathering autumnal cold. the north did not call to mahler; while he was a hale beast built for rougher climes, he saw no reason to willfully seek such out. and yet today the teeth of distant mountains claimed his attention in a way the gargoyle had not suspected. 
it was with thoughts gathering cloudstorm in his mind that mahler moved on. gone was the music of earlier summertime; now the drum of impending snow sounded in the sharp air. swiftcurrent at his back, the beast prowled forth. there was no attachment within him; he lived in the creekland on the mercy of two wolves he did not respect as he had wylla, if only to protect chusi. and the newcomers who wore constantine's scent were not wolves with which he wanted to mingle.
mahler suspected he had grown largely antisocial, and this was compounded by the brief annoyance he felt upon seeing the powerful form of another ahead. cloaked in earth and ivory, the stranger sported a peculiar but intriguing blaze of scarlet along their shoulders. though he did not wish to be seen, or to speak, mahler gave a polite chuff to announce himself all the same, hard lavender gaze waiting for the other to turn. he was too close to depart without notice, and somehow bound by an irritating sense of propriety.