Arrow Lake shine on

the waterfall was a profoundly beautiful mark of the land he and stigmata had claimed, and mahler heard the music of it beneath the softer tones of ruenna's voice. diaspora had become quickly a place where one could thrive, and around him the shadowpriest saw that it was good. 
studying the she-wolf as she spoke of healing, mahler wondered what it was that had loosed her heart from the creek. or had she been like he was beneath constantine's reign, never fully connected to the land, never given a reason to cultivate loyalty. it was a question for another time.
a small smile playing at the edge of his mouth, mahler followed the line of ruenna's honeyed eyes toward the lake. "ja," came his agreement. "the voice of children, perhaps." for what was a pack without its entenküken? soon diaspora would ring for the first time with new life, but it remained to be seen whether or not mahler would have a hand in that.