disillusionment.
it was upon a rise facing swiftcurrent that mahler stood in the afternoon snowfall, flakes drifting to stand starkly against his coat. once more, tension had risen to choke the pack; once more, he was unsure of how it might fall. as the gamma, he was privy to more than he wished, but knew only it seemed to be the woman aria who had come between the ranking pair.
secrets, vengeful lusts — swiftcurrent had ceased to be his home when the sea-wolf and her babe departed.
now the musiker's voice trailed in a long and sorrowful dirge; it called to @Durnehviir, to @Constantine. to @Aria; to @Chusi. and over the rise he cried, and into the wood he wept, not for what he was leaving behind, but for those who insisted on staying.
ich verlasse. ich werde nicht zurückkehren.
the snow alone beheld the turn of mahler's broad shoulders, soon covering his tracks with a light dusting as he headed in the direction of noctisardor, and the rebirth he hoped it would bear for him.