Little Goat Mountain bewusstsein

even the goat mountain was devoid of its namesake. despite the fact that diaspora had rallied, despite the fact that @Wylla had come back, mahler must now apply himself to ensuring their survival.
and so he ambled the foothills, searching for spoor. in sight of the hollow he kept, but carefully he had trained his mind to the task at hand, refusing to allow himself to slip into those most pleasant and unpleasant thoughts.

Wylla had gone to bed eager to escape the whirl of thoughts in her head and fell into a surprisingly deep sleep—so deep that she awoke and was certain that all of it had been a dream. Of course she hadn't encountered Mahler again. Of course he hadn't claimed to love her. Of course she hadn't selfishly agreed to take refuge in his territory while she searched for Tiercel, knowing how awkward things were and would be between them. All of that was just a dream.

But emerging into the hollow and finding his scent all around was confirmation that it wasn't. Nerves and guilt both punched her in the belly, and with a furtive glance to make sure he wasn't watching where she slept (she vainly wouldn't put it past him, the lecherous fiend), she made a beeline for the mountains.

Best to avoid him, she reasoned, and that's exactly why of course he was out here and of course she crossed his path on her way to the mountains. Against the backdrop of recently fallen snow, his darkly grizzled coat was something of an eyesore, and there was no mistaking who it belonged to. A lump formed in Wylla's throat the second she laid eyes on him and her legs grew unsure of where to go, causing her to turn a tight circle before standing there in plain sight like a deer in the headlights, desperate to run and yet frozen in place.

the general had taken up a comfortable pattern of finding a physical distraction each time his mind attempted a trek toward one of the larger issues weighing at him. 
thus far the man had found a dessicated berry-bush, an antler-tine thrown by a buck, and —
wylla.
she appeared not far off, her own pelage calling to the surprised, rapid blinking that rose to capture his eyelids. likewise, for a long moment mahler stood, unsure, and then began to trudge in hopes of closing the distance.
they would be, now, general and soldier; he flagged his plume affably. "vylla. i hope you rested vell. there is a ring of caves nearby, and i vas going to explore them," mahler explained, lifting muzzle into the cold breeze ruffling icy fingertips at his well-guarded nape. he was careful not to stare at her; a mere glance to sate him when he truly wished was to ask if she had dreamt of him in the night. 
fanciful!
"join me if you please, othervise i heard a shudder from above not long ago." a warning; a quick smile; he forced himself not to linger and turned to traipse away, slowly if she intended to follow, slowly while he gathered composure.

By the time she regained control of her limbs enough to flee, Mahler noticed her. Damnit, she thought as a vacant expression drifted across her face, replaced in an instant by something resembling politeness, except it was a little too bright-eyed even for Wylla to be totally genuine. It wasn't that she wanted to be rude to him—quite the opposite, she wanted very much to grasp the olive branch he'd extended in forgiving her—she just didn't know how to face him after all he'd told her.

And after she'd bared her soul, even for just a second or two; now their dynamic had changed and she felt woefully disadvantaged. Hullo, she said in a clinically chipper voice that made it all too obvious she was trying to act like everything was totally fine. For his part, Mahler was much better at pretending nothing happened than she was, and she had to wonder if it all had been just a dream.

From the sound of his warning, he wasn't giving her much of a choice. If what he said was true, and Wylla couldn't say with certainty that it wasn't, she was risking a mini avalanche if she tried to go up there. The idea of being forcefully snowed on by a mountain made her mouth taste sour, so she put thoughts of escaping up the slope from her mind. Sure I'll just go climb up there and die in a landslide, sounds great, she said sarcastically as she fell in step behind him.

Slept great, she responded at last to his initial greeting, this time with more sincerity. It'd been a long time since she had the safety of a group to allow her to rest easily. She'd slept like the dead. Had a perv or two sneak in on me but I'll spare you the details. She jested, but eyed him carefully for his reaction all the same.

was this what she wanted, this awkward give and take of leadership and subordination? for it was not what he wished; whatever her title, whatever rank she wore in diaspora, wylla existed outside the hierarchy. closer to him.
the gargoyle would not dare claim that he knew all there was to know about wylla, but the expressions with which she had greeted him thus far were anything but genuine, too saccharine. 
this mahler did not enjoy — he hoped that whatever was between them would settle, a stirred river finding its level once more.
he had not meant to dissuade her from moving higher upon the slopes, only to inform her of the danger therein. but mahler could not hide the flush of pleasure that riddled his cheeks beneath the umbra of his cheeks.
to her teasing he gave a heavy footfall that paused as he swung his ponderous muzzle to regard her seriously — but she was not.
”you are a taunter, vylla,” he intoned, humour lighting his lavender eyes as they lingered perhaps a moment longer than necessary on the planes of her face.
in the next moment he had turned, leading them both along the edge of a small snowcovered rise. "the man who came before me vanted to claim all of the sunspire. and until the recent quakings, ve did that." he paused, lowering his muzzle to explore the frost-rimed edge of an empty burrow. "it is just as vell ve vere made to settle in the hollow. it vas my first choice for our vinter and vhelping season."
he was silent then. she had known him as a stoic, monosyllabic beast — he had grown into a man who rambled. 
fanciful. 

She watched the falter in his step with a faint smirk, but with it came a hot knife of uncertainty. Anything resembling jealousy, even imagined, confirmed to Wylla that Mahler had meant what he said, and she wasn't sure exactly how to handle that. As with everything else unpleasant in life, she supposed she would attempt to put it from her mind, as impossible as that was.

He revealed some of the pack's history next and, eager for the reprieve from her mind, Wylla tilted her ears to listen ... and then veritably scoffed. Why would anyone want so much land to defend? she asked, swinging her gaze wide at the mountains looming above them. Would be a pain in the ass to maintain all of it. Sure, she supposed it was an admirable notion in its own way, claiming an entire mountain range, but having been raised in a humble and small home herself, she could not see the appeal of more land to defend.

She moved to attend the task at hand, peeking into a different cave than the one Mahler was checking and whisking her tail when she found it unoccupied and uninteresting. Facing the conflict before her was difficult, but this—doing a duty that was assigned her—was simple. What are we looking for, exactly? Threats, or treasures?

"herbs. dead things. anything ve might forage." wylla was amenable to the dearth of prey, but would she not be above scavenging if it came to such things? the land and its ragged changes forced them into testimonials of their own strength. the she-wolf would be no different; he had faith she would find the ability to prevail within her.
"stigmata vas ambitious. in more vays than vone," he commented quietly, deciding not to elaborate on that note. his kill-brother's legacy would be preserved not only in his children, but in mahler's refusal to speak ill of the dead. he would only think the matters upon which he could not expound.
it rested upon the tip of his tongue to ask after tiercel, but wylla had volunteered no more information after that. it would therefore be impolite to inquire again. somehow, some way, he was desperate to make small talk as he had never been with a singular soul, this lukewarm sort of conversation that benefitted neither party. belatedly, mahler recognized it as his longing to know her again, to reacqaint with wylla in a warmer way than they had parted.
onward the gargoyle pressed, silent now, pensive.

Apparently, Wylla replied. She could appreciate an ambitious wolf. More times than she could count had she displayed ambition of her own, but the birth of Tiercel had tempered that somewhat. It could rise again in her at any moment in her daughter's absence, but never in the way this Stigmata possessed. An entire mountain range? Admirable, yes, if not foolish, and she could see why Mahler might follow such a wolf, if that was indeed what had transpired.

It occurred to her that Mahler was being strangely quiet—strange only in that he had been verbose only moments before. Comfortable silence was always welcomed by Wylla, but there was something decidedly uncomfortable about this. Not because of him! He'd done nothing wrong. It was all her, her immature inability to handle confusing and conflicting matters like the adult she was supposed to be.

So she broke the silence: Wanna play twenty-one questions while we look? You can start if you want. It was better than silence and would allow them to get to know one another better, and she chose to overlook the vulnerability such a game could inflict.

it took mahler an embarassingly long spate of moments to figure what it was she meant by 'twenty one questions;' he puzzled it out after a lengthy silence, and glanced after her, chagrined. but the expression was fleeting; he reared his broad muzzle and cleared the cobwebs from his suddenly nervous throat.
"yes. vell," as good a beginning as any,  "vhere did you go? after you left sviftcurrent. it is all right if you do not vish to say," he hastened, against the very intention of the game. awaiting her answer brought a wave of consternation; he wondered anxiously if he had been too forward, but set about stalking a patch of frosted long-grass to see if he might flush a mouse or two.
why had she suggested this? mahler was suddenly aware of a creeping and naked nature, and was not at all convinced he would enjoy it. but wylla intrigued him all the same; in time he looked to her again.

Home, she answered, lowering her muzzle to sniff at a bit of frozen rabbit scat on the ground. At least a week old, she reckoned, so nothing useful there. She swiped a paw to send it tumbling among the pebbles and glanced at Mahler, who was delving into the tall grasses. She sought a deer trail next, but there was nothing forthcoming.

My mom lives in a place called Keokuk Glade. When my brother Ingram and I were younger, just juveniles, we got separated from her during a hunt. Dumbasses, we were. Lived alone ever since and never though to return, but I thought it might be better for Tiercel to be with her grandmother than on the road. Lusca had then imparted many things upon her daughter and not all of them were good.

What made you come to Grimnismal?

so that was what had become of tiercel. mahler marvelled at how already this little game wylla had devised — for surely it was her own creation, as he had never heard of it before today — had already satisfied an unasked question.
however, mahler swiftly became glad that he was neck-deep within the grass, for his jaw tightened at how she had chosen to take her turn. not with anger; with the dread of feeling the bruise from buried, unhealed wounds.
how had she come so close?
mahler pulled from his hunt.
"i vas alone quite some time before i came to grimnismal. there vas a fever in my old pack. few of us escaped, and i learned to be on my own after that ordeal. but by the time i found the coast, i no longer vished to be alone. it had become static."
inspecting an aged elk print, he traded vulnerability for a closer question of his own: "vhy did you continue to let me see tiercel?"

Oof, thought Wylla. She should've seen this coming; she hadn't realized her question cut close to his marrow, but this was a game that often quickly devolved jnto who could hit who the hardest. That wasn't her intention, but already the questions were becoming more loaded. Twenty to go and she wasn't certain they would make it that far without undoing one another somehow.

We were ... alone in the pack. That was awful to admit, but it was true. Her doing, of course, but she was content to blame them. I didn't trust anyone those days. Only her and Constantine. I didn't trust you either, she said, wincing in the event that stung him, but Tiercel needed more than just me to learn from and I didn't believe you would hurt her. She seemed happy to have a friend. That's all that mattered.

She tongued a tooth as she swept toward another cave mouth; in this one was a promising collection of bones. No meat, but bones were a distraction from hunger. She beckoned Mahler over with a noise in her throat, and her next question: how did you come to be so good with kids? It's hard, she clarified, in case he took her meaning as a barb (which wouldn't be below her, but of all the things she thought of him, pedophile was not one of them).

they were either very good at this game, or quite bad it. either way, mahler found himself hopelessly ensnared, lured by wylla's uncommon openness enough to share his own. he took no offense to her admission: not only had he reminded the she-wolf of a painful time, she was a lone mother, and he a powerful sort that could easily mete out death to a child.
but once more she had seen past mahler to himself, to the intentional good he had wanted to be in tiercel's life, no matter how brief. "i called her duckling, you know."
the gargoyle joined wylla a with a low smile of pride for her find, pulling an aged piece of ivory upon which he whet his teeth a thoughtful moment.
again the springing pain, but had he not wished to be close enough to share this part of himself? and now here they were, not bonded in the way mahler might have envisioned, but the question demanded an answer all the same.
"i am good vith children because vonce upon a time, i vas a father." if she laid her eyes upon him now, she might see the slight narrowing of his gaze, the twitch of the long muscle laid against his jawbone; all that he could not hold back of his sorrow.
"the fever took them." he did not want to speak of marigold. idly nosing the bone for which he had lost his taste, mahler turned the focus of his lilac eyes upon wylla. "vere you ready to be a mother?" she had not done a poor job of it; he only asked for he did not know of tiercel's beginning.

Wylla wasn't sure whether to be a little creeped out that Mahler had a nickname for her daughter or not. A younger her would've raged against such a thing, reminded him that he was not her father and had no right to offer nicknames, but now she knew better. A nickname was not harmful, and Tiercel had no father to defend anyhow. She said nothing on it, only allowing a thoughtful lift of her brow.

She wasn't expecting Mahler's answer; like so many things about him, he remained an enigma, and unraveling the tapestry of his mind was always surprising. A father, but his kids had died of the fever he escaped. She had nothing to compare the loss to, and as she settled briefly on her belly to gnaw the wrist bone of whatever animal died here, she tried to imagine losing Tiercel that way.

That must have been very hard, she told him, a brief condolence before he answered his question: No. I didn't want to be a mother and it wasn't planned, it just happened. Which said little about her self control. As did her next question, which was delivered in a cheeky effort to redirect from these sorrowful subjects:

What does it feel like, she wondered, pausing dramatically to crack the bones with her teeth, to have a cock?

a nod to her mention of his sorrow. he wanted to tell he how he had chastised the dragonfire wolfess over wylla, over chusi. children were the lifeblood of the pack; this remained an eternal and core truth to the gargoyle. 
he felt himself dissolved beneath these inquiries, carefully built walls dismantled stone by stone. he was uncomfortable, but was willing to consider the new music of this song wylla was penning for the both of them.
the faces of his children had begun to blur; they had been too young to remain in stark relief. the knowledge of this shuttered mahler with anguish, but he wrapped up the details and placed them up a mental hold, suspended for later processing.
he considered the two or three small caves left in the foothills. if there was nothing to be found, he must return to diaspora empty—
a slow blink. he had not heard correctly, mahler was certain. but he had, and he regarded the casual wylla with an interior sort of horror.
"vell," he stalled, crossing long forelegs, "it is ... it is not something i notice from day to day. it only makes itself ... apparent vhen there is a reason for it to be ... apparent." 
a winning answer.
"vhy do you ask?"

She'd hoped he would be flustered by the question, but from her standpoint, he answered it easily enough. That was no fun. Making others uncomfortable was one of life's little pleasures for Wylla, and it distracted from the heavier nature of the former questions. She hoped he would trip over himself in answering it, and he kind of did, but not the way she hoped.

She had to up the ante. He asked why she asked and she clutched the broken bones in her forepaws, tilting her body to the side and then rolling onto her back. She regarded him with a slow sweep of her tail, then coyly and shamelessly parted her legs to leer at him and said, This maaaaay disappoint you and come as a shock, but I lack one. I was ... curious..

She was seized with the absurd desire to wink as she settled back to her side, pinning him with an amused glint in her eye. How would he take that? That doesn't count as a real question, she said, twitching her nose and hoping to keep him here just a little longer. The game was tantalizing even while it promised discomfort for them both, or worse. It helped her to forget her misgivings and shame. So you can have another.

mahler had so very few expectations of this diversion between them, and even less suspicion that wylla would gather the sum of her teasing up into a physical display.
he was, in a word, dumbfounded, lilac eyes flown wide with a singular and brief shock as wylla put herself to his eye with a seductive writhe of her well-honed body. 
the masculine in him, recently sharpened by his interlude with nyx, hungered at once; mahler himself was titillated, appalled that she could be so brashly bold and suffer not a whit of shame about it.
tongue thick in a dry mouth, mahler tore his gaze aside to clear a throat gone parched with sand. he had never — he would —
"i believe you vin, vylla. i have no ability to ask another thing," mahler admitted hoarsely, the sight of her wide-flung thighs emblazoned with artistic clarity upon the inside of his eyelids as he shut his eyes in search of composure.

Aww, Wylla exclaimed before she could stop herself. Maybe it was just having the opportunity to rib Mahler in a non-aggressive fashion, but she'd genuinely been having fun, and she'd been learning more about him. That the sight of her splayed thighs could shut him down so completely ...

Her blood rushed in her ears all of a sudden and finally some shame came to her. I ... That was cruel, she acknowledged, eyeing him cautiously as she gathered her paws beneath her. We don't have to play anymore if you don't want. She wasn't sorry, though; in doing that she learned more still, and wasn't sure whether to feel interested by what she'd learned or frightened.

It was always possible he was a celibate monk, too, and she'd been highly improper, which might be even worse. We have work to do, right? she said, clearing her throat and bending to gather a bone into her jaws to bear back to the pack. In so doing, she unwittingly (and unintentionally, for once) hoisted her slight derriere directly into his line of sight to add insult to injury.

The more awkward the better right?

absolutely <3

wylla evinced disappointment, and mahler found his resolve to push forward returning. "not cruel. i simply did not expect it. that is the game, ja?" still, he was intrigued as to why she had chosen the day after his admission to work his blood into a frenzy. "let us keep playing."
and it appeared wylla was not finished — mahler was whetted anew by her positioning. the season had not yet even begun, and already he found himself a lustful fool. still, his more virile physicality was close to shaming him a second time; the gargoyle gathered himself up and paced some feet away.
two choices here: to move on with the game innocuously, or to strike back. the general knew the proper course, so he eschewed that altogether and meandered toward the nearest new cave mouth. "how long has it been since you vere vith a man?"
this new and playful side  of him was altogether foreign; he suspected only wylla could walk his mannerly self to the very edge of the profane.

Oooh, Mahler with the comeback. Wylla straightened with an uncomfortable stiffness seizing her shoulders. The point of the game was to tell the truth, always, and Wylla was not easily shamed ... but she was a hypocrite and could seldom swallow her own medicine.

To lie, or not to lie? Part of her was extremely hesitant to reveal the truth, her ego straining under the scrutiny of the General. It wasn't like she had a long line of suitors and he must've known it, to ask a question that would potentially humiliate her.

In the end, she told the truth in a mumble around the bone: the conception of my daughter. Her face felt hot as she followed him to the cave. She hoped fervently for even a rat to show itself so their attentions might be diverted, and in the absence of any such distraction, she aimed to turn the embarrassment back: how long for you?

he was a little taken aback; he had suspected wylla had no end to men wishing to woo and bed her. but simply having suitors was not enough; she was discerning, like himself. it was quite some time to be without that sort of touch. he flushed to have the question turned on himself, something he should have expected.
but if this game had taught him a single thing, it was that wylla was wildly unpredictable in salacious and wonderful ways.
for a moment, he felt a low silent ache in the hidden soul beneath the cool veneer.
he did not want to admit it; he had told her of his long-winded love just last night, and now here he must reveal that it had been "two months." roughly; it was around harvest-time that he and nyx had found one another.
part of him hoped desperately wylla would not react; another portion wondered if she would care in a jealous way.
"you enjoyed it?" mahler ventured, assuming that the whirlwind which had resulted in tiercel had indeed been worthwhile.

His answer left her feeling ... something. Not quite jealous, per se, though there was a hint of that ... but more inadequate. How ridiculous that this wolf who said he loved her was busy getting laid and Wylla, a free agent in almost all regards, had a snatch full of cobwebs. Ah, she said tonelessly.

Yeah, maybe she was a little jealous, not out of possession but out of insufficiency.

Then he stepped over a boundary to ask if she had enjoyed it. She felt something flare in her belly, but it wasn't the warmth of arousal when remembering how Tiercel was conceived. No, she grouched in a voice on the low edge of a growl. Not at him! Her sex with Raptor had lacked any enjoyment at all and the memory of it was unpleasant.

He was trying to kick my ass first, she said. It was terrible. A double wound, then; she hadn't been laid in an age and the only time she had had been a hateful affair, devoid of warmth or intimacy.

A little more fiercely than she intended, Wylla asked, does your mate lead your pack with you? And why, why, would her confuse her and intrigue her and terrify her by confessing his love if he already had a woman to share his bed?!

Not that she wanted it, it took more than a confession to make her pursue a man, but why ...!

if he had crossed a line, mahler arrogantly sought to justify it with how brazenly she had acted before! yet he found that he was disappointed for her, that it had not been an experience that she remembered fondly. mahler wisely made no comment, though to himself he wondered a little agonizedly if wylla had driven the father of her child as mad as she seemed to be attempting in their interlude together.
the father of tiercel. it almost sickened mahler somewhat; they had edged into unfamiliar territory even beyond their earlier playfulness.
wylla's voice held an edge that had not been there before, and mahler regarded her warily. "i have no mate," he answered the she-wolf quietly. "it vas not till this year that i allowed myself to be ... persuaded. and no vone has ever made me ... has ever distracted me."
from you
"are you surprised?" a hint of vanity, a surreptitious probing into the woman's reasoning.

She certainly deserved every hint of embarrassment he coaxed into her now; it was her own damn fault for being unable to take what she gave. She could feel the thorns threatening to wrap around her heart again and force him out, remove the forwardness their game had bridged between them, and none of it was really his fault. It was hers, and she tried to remind herself of it as she searched for something—anything—that might turn their attention back to their task. Alas, there was naught but bones and moss to be found in the caves.

She was surprised to hear he had no mate, but was that truly so strange? Perhaps women more pliant than she sought the arms of a man in charge, and again she found herself wondering why she hadn't before—or if she would come to—see Mahler's worth in that respect. That thought was as infuriating as it was comforting—she would not have to deal with a scorned mate mistreating her in the pack she was staying with, which was good, but instead would forever question what he sought in bedding women besides mateship, and if there was something wrong with her for not doing the same. Her experience with Raptor had been unpleasant enough that she hadn't allowed another man's touch since; she really was missing out and had no idea.

She ruminated on his question for a long time before answering, I am. Then, because she hadn't caught his meaning, she added, distracted from what? Leading your pack?

for a length of time she was silent, and he turned his mind back to the caves. there was nothing to be found here, but mahler knew this fruitless endeavor had perhaps been the more intriguing of them. wylla was more than a good companion, she presented an avid challenge for his starved mind.
unsure whether or not he had placed distance between them with his admission of intimacy when it came to another, mahler did not press through the quietude with words. he coaxed the low hill one last time with a resigned sweep of his eyes, muzzle lifted to the air, and then arced back in the direction of diaspora.
a bemused curl of his lips now; their discourse today had been livid with unsaid things, bold with those that had been uttered aloud, but still wylla seemed unsure of what he had said beneath the frigid winter moon. 
"no vone has ever distracted me from you," he repeated, more plainly, thinking of the last heated exchange he had shared with andraste. and then mahler drew them on, for continuing to linger here in their conversation would only strain things. "vhat vill you do vhen vinter is ended?"