Sawtooth Spire there's lots of middle ground between the kings and centipedes

not a word, and yet such a word; his grinchless heart sprang several sizes larger all the same, and the sunlight of his affection dried the tears that remained. a new deluge did not threaten, and yet mahler was filled with a tangible sense of delight, something pure and welling up like molten gold from the core of himself.
something new.
"dada, indeed," mahler chirruped back in his gruff manner. he patted her with a soft brush of his broad paw. "phaedra." and to his chest "dada."
answering her behest, the man put his scar-crossed muzzle within her reach, smirking at the irony that she should now in her tiny way behold the healed wounds he had received at her birth.
"a lesson learned," he breathed to no one in particular.