Larksong Grotto prüfung

Mahler wrest the woolen throat of the beast;
(if the boy was an educated scholar, he'd compare and contrast the hart and the hunter). Astraeus chews the side of his cheek as the goat parries, but his elder endures, o' so lionheartedly. Crescent-lune teeth uncover a spring of bloom'd red, bitter wine, the musk permeating in the vicinity;
a lost-lustrous glimpse of the to-be-felled beast blanches, pallid and waning orbs entranced in his. The goat breathes a final damning on wolves as it's limbs feather back themselves, sighing into fathomless repose. The boy knew it was a death that was necessary for them to live, and so he stares, unbemused.

“Papa, you did it!”