Sawtooth Spire zweiter teil

phaedra prepared for battle and mahler pranced in a tight circle, sending breath churning through his aching throat in a plume of white. here the air seemed to cool the melancholy of his cough; he felt robust, once more in the narrow side-slip reaches of sagtannet.
they had departed for a proper reason, but upon their way, they had fallen. he and wylla had slipped to their last, and his was the final blow.
mahler, dismal greying dog, unable to even keep the sheer joy of this moment un-inked by bitter lettering overtop.
she called out, and mahler forgot their snow-spat, moving to peer over her shoulder at the joyous purpled flowers.

"sie versteckt und versteckt ihren kopf,"
"unter dem schönen schnee,"
"verstecken, damit du nicht riechst oder leckst."
"so schön dein gelbes lächeln,"
"aber sie wird dich krank machen!"

a dour sort of cultural more, but the dryness was what had reared mahler. he only laughed at the finishing of it, and said, "crocus."