Sleepy Fox Hollow Where I thought I knew it all before I knew what love was

again a spitfire, but this time the conflagration continued grow. ”vhen you left, you took  home vith you!” he snapped back, body mirroring the own thorny lines of her figure. the step he had relinquished was taken; mahler snaked into her presence and thrust close his muzzle.
”AND I, VYLLA, AM AFFRONTED,” mahler raged in a booming clap of thunder, ”THAT AFTER ALL THIS TIME, YOU VOULD DARE ACCUSE ME OF LYING!” 
never in all his born days had he shouted so, for anything; mahler had risen to the fullest reserves of his height and deliberately loomed over vylla with his proud charcoal ruff thrown abristle.
he did not raise his plume, however. by the law of wolves he could force her to submit here, so close to his land. but mahler did not wish this! he wished to be be burned, continually, and so he encouraged the jagged flame of wylla, and her spate of wrath, and found himself confused, rejected, enthralled, and aggrieved all at once.
embarrassed now, mahler refused to let this show; he justified all that he had done with another lingering growl of frustration. 
”have i not alvays been direct? vhen i say something, i mean the vords. and so, vylla,” he went on, scorned by her but drawn back all the same, the edge of his voice an unforgiving whiplash, ”you can be assured that vhen i say that i love you, i mean it. i can say vhatever i vant, and that is vhat i choose to say? okay?” he ended, indignant, breathless, and closer to her own face than he had meant to be, closer than was natural by those selfsame laws.