Shadow Mountain Night Cafe for lonely cynics

had he known sarah's thoughts about the fox hollow, mahler might have hastened in his way to assure the woman that the place of which she was thinking and where he had settled his wolves were not one and the same. as it was, he had little way of knowing her inner flare, and kept his attention upon their conversation. "never," he agreed, a sigh whispering from his lips.
"perhaps they have gone to the taiga," he suggested, aware that revealing this might spell more competion for diaspora. he hated this world now, the sundering of it forcing him to regard even the creatures of which he was fond with wariness. any meat sarah might hunt today was flesh from the mouths of his own pack's pups, and not for the first time did he curse stigmata and his too-hungry dowsing rod by which he had created a disparity of grown wolves and young in diaspora. "vill you follow?"