there was no pleasure in stigmata's voice, and mahler could hardly fault him for his ire. it was sudden; it was a compromising of values that ruenna had professed, and now she sought to leave diaspora to be within another place. there was a strange emptiness that replaced the space where she had stood when she placed distance between them, and mahler was befallen by a deeper sense of woe. as brother, as kapitän, his place was here now, to be part of the talk of peace that would herald ruenna's departure, and mahler clung to that task and willed it to drive the pain from his spirit.
such hopes were dashed when the little counselor offered herself as mother to diasporan children, to forge an alliance between they and the vale — the gargoyle glanced away from them both. it was not necessary; he would not allow it. but ultimately the decision was not his, it belonged to stigmata, who surely would rejoice at the idea of more sons and daughters from his line.
ruenna's bravery in the face of the fierce ironwolf's resolve was nothing short of admirable, and she offered a great thing to lay a bridge betwixt the budding vale and the soldiers who called the mountains their own. a chance for new growth to come of this, for their bond to be blood-bound and permanently affixed.
the ember must die, then, for if stigmata accepted this marriage for the good of their two packs, who was mahler to allow such frivolity to stand against it? perhaps this was the best way, the only way: tradition in the springtime to bring bounty in the autumn months, more wolves to be raised against outside threats.
desperately, mahler wanted to be dismissed, but stood steadfast and looked now to stigmata, silent unless he was called upon to share the most succinct of his own thoughts, burying the remainder of them to stay interred for as long as it took to forget how ruenna's honeyed gaze had made him feel whole for a moment.