mahler was afraid to respond in kind. he was afraid that he might place an expectation there — no, no. the shadowpriest felt suddenly his slicing weariness at being so alone. he had wylla. he had phaedra. but he had no companions. he had isolated himself from so very many.
laurel begged him not to leave, as if the choice belonged to him. he wanted to tell her that he would not — mahler wanted to lie and to tell her that the future was known, that he would rally, that rivenwood would have him;
but he did not know. and it was the unknowing which so terrified mahler. laurel's embrace twined their warmth together, and it started to feel like a knit-blanket. her cheek was cool against his; he felt her sorrow and the thousand shards of glass that surely, surely she carried inside herself.
"i do need you also, laurel."
the admission made him experience a moment of panic — he saw his fear in commitment or overcommittment. but he would not allow her to hold it. mahler took a long breath. he could say nothing else, and did not know that there was more to say.