Sleepy Fox Hollow Gave up on it, but honey, you got my hopes up

mahler was unsure that he had ever been under the thrall of such a craving. every movement, every step and arch and indignant feral billowing provoked a deeper and more ardent lust within the gargoyle.
the first to breed within a pack would take up the rank beside mahler. but it was occupied; but it belonged to takiyok. and despite their strife he had made his pledge.
wylla spurned, spiraled, blurred. mahler cursed the season, for it forced him forward after her, following the vibrant trail she had laid, the swing of silvergrey hips and pride of her gait.
she wanted more from him than the promise of children; even in his addled state, mahler remembered that she had intended to be second, that she had uttered her treason to him, that he had done nothing.
and now she wished to wield him, tooled by the eager appendage which he had not so long before wished he could tear off his body.
he hesitated, muzzle lowered,
then began to follow again. he would guard her all the same; the idea of wylla being covered by another man sparked a fevered, illogical seed of hatred in the gargoyle's heart, even as he fought for control, for any words that could reconnect tongue to instinct and stop this stop this stop