any memory of aurëwen that might have comforted the general in the cool time before dawn, wherein he visited the mound overgrown with wildflowers beneath where stigmata lay, was darkened by what dragomir had told him. mahler had always known that the dove's neglect had led to her son's wounds; he had not dreamed it was so directly, and with guilt remembered how she had spun him down into a world of silk and murmurings.
still, it was not something mahler opted to regret; there was an ache within him to see her again. perhaps then, however, he would ask after it, for no matter what had happened between them, her children remained beloved to his concerns.
all was made irrelevant, however, when the world rumbled beneath diaspora, sending eddies of lakewater ringing his ankles as he stood for a drink. fear washed over him, primal as birth, and then mahler steadied himself quickly, seeking round for anyone who might confirm that it had indeed occurred.