Nova Peak gründung

the sunspire was a distant shadow in a rainswept atmosphere.
mahler prowled up the gentle incline that led to stone shelves scattered with evergreens. even in the gentle drizzling, he could see the place was verdant. pronghorn sprang out of the shadowpriest's way as he found a towpath spiraling up the side of the peak. colder here; it reminded him of sagtannet's first home, which he missed if he was able to admit it to himself.
afternoon, and he breathed the frosted air from high above. the mountain was home to a gentle incline, not quite a valley, but a series of descending wide steps built of rock that led down toward the distant roar of a river.
windholme. he sighed, rolled his heavy shoulders, began to traverse the forest placed on the northernmost side.

Oh, what a wonderful thing to run!

Sure, it was raining like the dickens and it was a lot colder here than Wylla was accustomed to, but for right now, she didn't notice. She was able to bound along sloped ridges and hop down low shelves with almost no fear of twisting her ankle or meeting her doom at the end of a long drop. Compared to Sawtooth Spire, with its toothy foothills and its dead ends and dangers around every corner, Nova Peak was practically a gentle hill.

She was pleased to find herself more surefooted from her time in the jagged peaks. She wasn't as easily winded and her legs didn't tremble with exertion like they did before. She found herself in the higher reaches pretty easily and, upon spotting Mahler, loped forward to snap at his retreating tail tip. She wasn't necessarily happy—they'd left the shadow of Thade in the mountains, this land was unfamiliar, and she still had a lot of personal issues to work through on top of that—but she was at least in a good enough mood to yank his tail.

If you're sick of me lemme know!

literally never

wylla would be happy to see the lack of jagged teeth at the bottom of this mountain, mahler noted. it was far smaller, with a greatly decreased incline, but the more frigid air here comforted him.
the shadowpriest paused in a clearing bordered by golden larchtrees, where little white flowers with tiny yellow centers spread through a sprawl of green. it was different, not unpleasant.
as if he had summoned the keen-eyed she-wolf, a yank to his tail started mahler to her presence. too surprised to consider it, instinct took away, and the broad man whirled to playfully course for her shoulder.

Mahler whirled quickly, but Wylla was more spry. Not only due to being younger, but also being blessed with the whip-like genes of her mother. She dodged his retaliation with a playful growl and a nimble curve to her spine, wasting no time weaving in an effort to get behind him again.

She snapped at his tail again but missed. The falter that followed left her wide open to him; she wouldn't be able to bend out of the way a second time, or maybe she simply didn't want to. Dozens of tiny flowers were trampled underfoot; unlike observant Mahler, she never even noticed them. Instead she noticed the crisp air, the wide green spaces around the mountain, and the temporary absence of the grief left behind on Sawtooth.

mahler romped after her, enjoying the nimble curves of her body and the playful nature that had long been bereft in them both. petals underpaw; he laughed as wylla came for his plume again. this time, however, he saw her misstep and rushed to take advantage of it. 
through a smile mahler sought to clack his jawline along her own with a growl, teeth bared but no threat behind them. for a moment there was no sagtannet, only the musiker and his muse. he leapt beyond her with a dance of his broad paws, daring the woman to try a second time, banner flung high with a teasing wave.

Her skull rattled with the force of jaw smacking against jaw, but it only made her growl mix with a throaty chuckle: hrr-hrr-hrr. Mahler proved how limber he remained by scooting around her, faster than she would've expected for a wolf of his size and stoic demeanour, and for a few seconds her eyes tracked the tempting tip of his tail.

But he would be expecting that. She slipped into a bow instead, slapping her paws against the waterlogged grass before flinging herself directly at him. She reared up, aiming to wrap slim arms around his broad neck. She might not be able to get his tail in a conventional fashion, but if she could just wrestle his head and shoulders down, maybe she could clamber over him instead...

mahler did not often have the chance to demonstrate himself; he courted her mirth with a laugh of his own. wylla bowed and then sent her small body hurtling forward.
the gargoyle found that no matter how often he had seen her fearlessness in active sweep, it was still astounding each time. the woman pressed close, winding forelegs about his shoulders, and bringing him downward.
mahler set his heels and resisted, but only after wylla had accomplished her initial aim, grinning beneath her grip as he swung himself to the left in an attempt at dislodging her.

With Mahler's head grappled into the circle of her arms, Wylla began attempting to wrest his shoulders lower. He was strong, stronger than her—in a real fight or spar, this tactic would be pure stupidity. But in play, it gave her the opportunity to press her slim muzzle close to his ear and cheekily murmur, pretty good view from here.

Before she could seize her rare good mood to tease him further, Mahler rocked to the left. Given the disparity in their sizes, Wylla was literally swept off her feet to land on her side with a gasp as her forelimbs came undone. Cheater! she wheezed, flailing her undignified limbs around to find purchase with which to right herself. Knave! Beneath her salt and pepper ruff, rain-heavy flowers crumpled.

Instead of finding her feet again, Wylla rolled and made to clamp one of his large ankles in her jaws.

she continued to surprise him; mahler had not expected her low words, and his heartstrings thrummed with a wild beat.
"knave?" he exclaimed with a broad laugh, true mirth shimmering through him as he watched the she-wolf twist about into the flowerbed.
wylla wound herself catlike 'round one of his pillared legs, teeth flashing toward the thinner fur. the gargoyle crowed another laugh and pulled backward, seeking to drag her across the wet grass with a dramatic sigh. "you make a beautiful bracelet, liebende."

Wylla's grip on Mahler's wrist was firm, but gentle enough to cause no harm. He retreated, pulling her along with him, until she relinquished her hold to snort. Better not've just called me some mean name, she huffed, having learned exactly none of his mother tongue. Phaedra spoke it and it frustrated her to no end to not understand it, but she was a stubborn thing. One language was enough for her, thank you!

She stood and shook out her fur, tutting at the smear of green that tainted her silver hairs. Damn the wet grass. You've gone and got me dirty, she complained, flashing her teeth in a conspiratorial grin. How're you going to make it up to me?

"never, not at all," mahler grinned, a fresh gaiety in his eyes. he drank in the look of her, each movement a marvel; the gargoyle recalled how he had always been captivated by wylla, since their first meet. and though it had evolved into a sensation more deeply felt, mahler would not forsake the first experience of her.
she was tinged with the hue of the soaked earth; the shadowpriest sidled closer, lowering his muzzle slowly until his breath blossomed along the pelt over her shoulder. there he lingered, tonguetip stealing to coax the viridian from her moonbound robes. if she allowed, mahler meant to continue his slow washing of her coat, movement idled, languid as the rain continued to fall.

How might their lives have differed if, when she invited him for a swim years ago in Grimnismal, Wylla had sized him up fairly as a possible suitor, without the lens of imbecilic youth? Certainly, there wouldn't be a chasm between them. Even now, she could feel the pulse of her lingering pain beneath the balm of this shared moment, cautioning her from letting him get too close. She ignored it, reaching past the miasma of mistrust in hopes she would find him there on the other side, unguarded. Didn't they deserve to move past it?

Wylla whispered a content growl when he began cleaning her fur. It still felt strange to be so receptive to tactile affection when she'd spent the majority of her life warding others away. She wound herself against his chest and arm, nipping at the exposed side of his neck in an effort to coax him to lay down with her even if the ground was wet. Guilt was quick to creep up on her when she did so, that she could enjoy him this way after how thoroughly they'd torn each other down. At the last second, it began to consume her and she compulsively sought to ruin their tender moment by mumbling, ah, Gustav, which she suspected he wouldn't approve of.

amusing how both of them reached back to grimnismal at times. mahler was not an individual who had ever accepted fate, and he did not think wylla found it plausible either. they had gone from the lives of one another; he had never expected to see her again, and certainly not at a time when he weathered the crush of several sorrows.
she had come back, and mahler had felt himself pulled together again, stone by stone. leeriness spoke in his breast, but he only moved closer to the ferocious little wolfess who had so captured him time and again. 
the silent want of her teeth drew him down; mahler ignored the seeping wet and drew her to him. propping chin over the delicate arch of her skull, the gargoyle inhaled, wanting too much to speak —
but what came was a groan, a laugh, something that peeled them from the edge of further vulnerability into a safer place of humour. "vylla," mahler said with faux severity, "i must revoke your speaking privileges." the deep barrel of his chest housed a chuckle; he sighed and held his beloved somewhat tighter, refusing to let this moment escape them.

Mahler’s warmth enveloped Wylla, instilling a sense of calm and safety, but also a stab of guilt for her recent treatment of him. A flash of ire for his treatment of their daughter. These things skimmed the surface of her mind, but she was able to wave them away for the sake of a minute of peace. She had to acknowledge that he was trying more, these days, and could she afford to lose him? The weight of his muzzle on her scalp made her lower her own to rest over her paws, at least until a chuckle rumbled along her side and she snaked her head out from under him for a sidelong look.

I’m afraid you’ll have to take my tongue, she jested, poking the tip of it past her dark lips. In spite of the rain, Wylla felt at ease. Her eyes roved across the hazy sky, lighting on where the Sunspires might be if not for the grey curtain obscuring them. There were other mountains, lone ones like this one, barely visible as shadows. This was the first one to make her feel at home, possibly due to the sweet kiss of salt in the air.

Or possibly because of Mahler. A well of vulnerability found itself opening in Wylla’s heart. Rather than slamming the lid shut on it like she was wont to do, she cautiously reached to dip a paw in it by saying, I want to stay here. I want this… forever.

"do not tempt me," mahler rejoined cheekily, falling then headlong into the alice-rabbit world of wylla's next statement. it rendered him silent for a ticking handful of seconds; he cleared his throat, thankful that she could not see the expression upon his cragged face.
"i vant that too," mahler murmured, more hoarsely than he would have liked, but he would not apologize for the beat of the love in his breast as he held wylla upon the viridian grass studded with a thousand alabaster flowerets. the side of their mountain, theirs, this land coursed by her silvermoon figure and his charcoal shadow following, claimed by them alone in a way that sagtannet had not been.
desperate for the never-ending of this second, mahler's breath caught in his throat; he drew back with folded ears to seek her cheeks, the bridge of her nose, the proud muscle where skull met neckline, all with sundry licks and laving and a whispered "i love you so very much, vylla" beating in his throat like a vow.

She held her breath, cradled carefully in her lungs while she awaited Mahler’s response. Wylla didn’t know why doubt continued to gnaw cankers into her hopes; no matter how many times Mahler had claimed to love her and no one else, she’d always doubted it. She couldn’t conceive of it. How could anyone say that and mean it when she tended to be such an insufferable hag? There’d been enough bad in her life to make her believe it was all due to her, and not chance.

But he said it again, and this time, Wylla didn’t doubt him. Her heart thudded against its bonds, punching her nerves, and her breath leaked slowly between her teeth, a silent sigh of relief. Her shoulders fell, devoid of tension. She felt a little like she was suffocating and her stomach wriggled like she'd swallowed a dozen snakes. Her greatest impulse was to find a distraction in the pale flowers or the stormy sky or the sage green of the mountain forest, but the time for distractions was over. Wylla had to confront this now, or not at all.

Even the way he mispronounced her name, once such a source of ire, had become endearing some time ago. She winced still, sometimes, but in jest these days. That should’ve been a sign to her. She’d been wilfully blind to it before, wrapped up in finding reasons to blame him and push him away, but she embraced it now, turning in his arms so she could press her muzzle beneath his and mutter, I love you, too, Mahler.