Sleepy Fox Hollow Folk star

Brook, at approximately seven months, looked a bit more like five. Her growth had been stunted from the constant pecking order of Tortuga, and even though she had thought she was doing well there, it hadn't been enough. She was weary, tired, and most of all: hungry. It had been days since she'd last eaten, and much longer since she'd had a solid meal. Her stomach growled, but that was the norm for her now. She wasn't sure if anybody would take her in this state, but she at least had to try. If there was one thing Tortuga had taught her, it was that giving up wasn't an option.

If there was a world around her, she barely noticed it. All she could sense was the smell of a pack, hope, and the gnawing sensation at her stomach. When she finally puffed up her chest and called for an audience, her voice sounded more hoarse and weaker than she recalled. As the last notes died out, she winced as she folded her back legs underneath her and curled her scraggly tail around her feet. Lakshmi looked a mess, but she did her best to sit up straight and keep her golden eyes on the lookout for whoever would come to greet her.

diaspora was small, but at peace.
mahler had discovered an elk carcass felled by an early-risen bear, which had wandered off after its fill was taken. after waiting some time, he had called for his wolves, and they had feasted for the first time in long months.
it was a well-fed general that attended the scraggly child at his borders. for the time being, heat-scent had died from the hollow, setting mahler into a less tense state, but he was no less guarded than before.
a languid stalk brought him to regard the young one, fur askew, delicate-boned, perhaps far too weak for that which diaspora demanded. and yet the fruitfulness of his scavenging had put him into a better mood.
"vhat is it you vant?" mahler rumbled, lilac eyes cold upon the bedraggled stranger.

Wylla's skippable since I'm working weird shifts all week and won't be able to reply consistently, it just makes sense she'd show up!

Things had been quite quiet lately. Wylla didn't know the real cause, but was compelled to point fingers at the pack's Kapitän. Mostly because it benefited her to do so and not because Takiyok deserved it at all. She didn't say it outright. She didn't even reveal it to Mahler, whom she trusted more than most wolves in her own roundabout way. But her increased presence on the borders might say something, and she'd jockeyed for meat from the recent kill in a way that suggested she thought herself an absolute staple of the pack.

She was on one such border patrol when Brook howled and was pleased to note that she was very close by. Wylla didn't bother picking up the pace; hastening to Brook's location would only give the impression they were desperate for bodies, she thought, and while that might be the case, she didn't want to make it seem that way. Her approach was leisurely, casual almost, and she wasn't surprised to find Mahler had arrived before her.

By now he might be able to pick out the subtle signs of her pregnancy that Wylla herself had, but that was far from her mind as she drew up beside him, just slightly behind his shoulder, and pinned the scrawny and tawny juvenile with a critical stare, intending only to back the General up.

A large—in every sense of the word—dark wolf approached Brook, and she swallowed hard. He reminded her of the type that did so well in Tortuga. Those who could not only take a beating, but also dish one out. As much as she had tried, Brook had never been good at either of those things. Tortuga had toughened her, but it hadn't been enough to mold her into the kind of wolf who would thrive there. Lakshmi didn't spend too much time looking at him, as she had averted her gaze when he approached, and she continued to look at his feet.

I—um— she coughed quietly, ridding her throat of the phlegm that had built up there. Another wolf had approached, though Brook kept her eyes cast downward and didn't get a sense of her except for a whiff of her scent. Are you recruiting? she managed to squeak out. Even as the words came out, they were weak. She was weak. What pack would take her, and why did she expect that she'd get lucky this time? Tortuga would have laughed in her face if she'd come to them like this. She had seen others turned away there, how pitiful they had looked. The elders had told her that she too would be turned away if she grew up to be weak. And that was exactly what had happened.

the joiner was saved further pronouncements when wylla joined the pair. mahler was immediately distracted, though this did not readily show upon his cold features.
in the pionier's personal fragrance, a rosy-tipped budding of something new, soft-edged. the gargoyle had known it too often to not understand what it was that came to pass.
heart alight with a dizzy pleasure, the general pinned the starveling with a shrewd look. "ve have places in diaspora for those who can do vhatever is asked of them, and those who are not sick."
the unsaid questions were perhaps clearer now. despite the good fortune that had come to the pack, mahler would not invite ill creatures to sup with them.

If there was anything going on between the two wolves before her, it was lost upon the simpering form of Brook. As much as she had tried to put on a brave face, this was hard. When he said that she would have to do whatever was asked of her, assuming she wasn't sick, she nodded solemnly. She had done things for Tortuga as well. Things she would rather forget than reminisce about. Brook wasn't sick, but she wasn't exactly well, either.

I ain't contagious, she said softly. Just hungry and haggard. She realized that those things weren't exactly a resume to die for, but what else did she have? If this did not pan out for her, she wasn't sure how much longer she would last on her own. The longer it took her to find a place to live, the less likely others were to let her live there. She wouldn't bother with introductions unless it seemed necessary. Brook wanted to save what little energy she had.

the youth's voice was harsh, more mature than he might have expected from a girl. "how many months do you have?" came the general's next question. it was becoming clearer, the nature of her being here, and once assured, the man was willing to relent.
perhaps he was too lenient, but diaspora would need hunters to support the next influx of cubs. and then again, he was loathe to take on yet another mouth that could not pay back what it ate. he too did not want to appear weak, but neither did mahler intend to dissuade her away.

When he asked the next question, Brook couldn't believe her ears. What a cruel, heartless question he had asked. But she steeled herself against the emotions and answered as honestly as she could. Don't think I have months left, sir. Not by myself. At most, she would last a couple of more weeks on her own. She would slowly wither away to nothing but bones and the fur that clung to it. Her body would be plucked apart by whatever scavengers happened upon her, and Lakshmi's life would be a short story, rather than a novel.

Brook grimaced at the thought, but it was likely her fate. This wolf was just making it clear that her fate was in his paws. This particular form of torture was one she was quite used to, so she barely felt the weight of it stacked up against all the other layers that had been put there before. Over and over again, she'd been torn apart. Perhaps it was time for her physical presence to be torn apart, too.

the girl did not take the archaic meaning of how he had worded himself; mahler was chastised by her quiet tone, her somber revelation. "i meant to ask how old you vere," he corrected himself gently, but his eyes flicked over her gaunt frame with a mild concern.
"i am mahler, general here. this is vylla, pionier," he went on, having made his decision. she was young, but he sensed with food and rest, she could also be capable. "i vill take you in as our newest geist," the gargoyle stated, now pausing to see what both the woman near him and the girl made of his declaration.

Now she felt really stupid. And more like shit for not being smarter. Why couldn't she get anything right? Now she was mentally punishing herself, certain that she'd just made herself look like an idiot in front of Mahler and Vylla. Think 'bout six or seven months, she said, answering his previous question. She wasn't sure of the exact timeframe, considering her circumstances, but she had a vague idea, and that's what she'd been told back at Tortuga.

She didn't know what a geist was, but she assumed she'd be placed in the lowest rank possible. It was what she deserved, after all. Brook was weak and stupid, a worthless use of space. She realized she hadn't even told them her name. Y'c'n call me Brook. She had a second name, but she didn't bother to mention it.

a nod. likewise with takiyok, mahler swept his gaze sidelong to gauge wylla. odd having her there; he had not greeted the borders with her before. it was usually the winterwhite.
reminded of his massive role within their failure at companionship, mahler felt a stony quease grip his stomach; between such recollections and the ethereal little spice to wylla's scent
— how long had she known? why had she said nothing? —
the gargoyle had grown rather distracted. "rest and eat. i vill set you a task to complete vhen you you have done both." a day of rest and a full belly. he would give no footsoldier less. they bore diaspora, and mahler wished to be fair to them, even in the face of wolven tradition. it would make no sense to starve or bully brook further, not to his inner clockwork. she was already the weakest of them, and so long as she remained that way, a drain. give her food and a place to sleep, let herself work up.
such was the point of their hardy group, after all.

She was, in so many words, granted permission to stay. To be one of Diaspora. Bowing deeply to both of them, she muttered a quick, I won' disappoint, even though deep down, she knew that she would. She always had, so why should this instance be any different? Still, even a few weeks of rest and food here would do her good, and she would do her best on whatever task he set aside for her.

Shivering, the brown and cream agouti canine began to make her way to... well, anywhere that wasn't on the outskirts. She'd need to find some food and then have a long nap. After that, she imagined she would put herself to work trying to meet the wolves who lived here: her new crew.

Throughout the exchange, Wylla remained silent, truly a feat for the fiery Pionier. Her judgment was tempered by Brook's tender age thanks to the secret soft spot she harboured for the young, though she had serious doubts the thin waif of a wolf would amount to much. Beggars couldn't be choosers and if it was between having the numbers to defend their land or not, Wylla knew the right answer, even if the bodies were less than ideal.

The most she gave was a very quiet snort of laughter when Brook misunderstood Mahler—she had misunderstood him before, as well, and occasionally still felt needled by how he mispronounced her name, though it was no fault of his. The General didn't lose his patience over it, as he didn't with her whenever she corrected him, and finally decreed that Brook would join Diaspora. He would have work for her soon.

The wiry Pionier stepped aside to allow the scrawny adolescent to pass, giving Mahler a fleeting look. Good job, maybe, though when she was an Alpha in Grimnismal she would've turned Brook away. She was older, now, smarter. If she was Kapitän then she would have questions of her own, but she was merely Pionier and meant only to bolster his already significant presence. Assuming he had nothing to say to her and didn't call to her, she would turn and head back into the forest.

he too stood down as brook took her leave, and caught the sunflower glimmering of wylla's eyes. when the rawboned yearling was out of earshot, the general cleared his throat, pretended to be quite intrigued by the snow underpaw a long moment before he blinked at her turning form.
"you vere not going to tell me?" the gargoyle inquired, hurrying to fall into step alongside her. many things would change if his assumptions were correct. and somehow he also was hurt, for she had become quite enthused with her lone-times, and spent it away from him.
unfair, he chided himself, knowing that the thoughts arose only for he now knew her scent, and that it had changed.
perhaps, suspicion too made its merry bed in his pained heart, but for not he kept that to himself, turned his face away, awaited her words.

She expected that he might stop her, but not for the reason he stated. Wylla thought he would ask why she was so quiet or why she stood where Takiyok ought to or what she thought of their newest member. Instead, he broke the silence with a question she was not expecting and didn't want to answer, and she froze in place.

I wanted to be sure, she said, which was true. It wasn't the whole truth, though. The rest of it was that she didn't actually want to be pregnant with his kids. There was no promise between them, no commitment, no stability. She didn't want any part of the little harem he was building. She didn't want to be just one of many and she'd already entertained the idea of pretending they belonged to someone else if only to spare herself the humiliation of being just another of Mahler's wenches.

She nearly wielded that weapon against him in misplaced self defense, but the desire wilted and died almost instantly. Whether she liked it or not, Wylla had come to care for Mahler and hurting him that way no longer appealed. She sighed, knitted her brows together, and turned her face elsewhere so he would not see the uncertainty and frustration written there. I didn't even know with Tiercel until someone told me and it's not like I've been sick or anything. Just a bit off. Could've been gas for all I know.

now came her speaking, the careful pluck and sound of her words. though she explained herself, though wylla was calm and explanatory, there was a great chasm between her reaction, and what he had expected it would be. a frown then, and though the woman had turned away, mahler craned his neck, trudged beside her, until he could envision more of her somber countenance.
"this does not ... you do not vant ..."  throat-clearing, ruffled, embarassed. "vylla, are you unsure?" of takiyok's wrath, of giving birth again.
it did not occur to mahler that wylla did not wish to be mother to his brood, not after she had risen to him so passionately.
ears cupped forward, the general was silent.

Wylla should've known he wouldn't accept her answer at face value. His face loomed into her periphery as he craned his neck and caught sight of her face, and then stammered out a reply. It sounded strange coming from him. After all, Wylla had already made the unfair assumption that this was just another contract to him. He didn't care any more than he did about any of his other prospects, was what she told herself.

Mahler, she sighed, pausing in the snow to look him full on. If I came to you and said that whatever pups I'm carrying aren't just yours and you would have to share my attention with the other fathers, how would you react? A test, then, and if he didn't chase her from his grounds in a wild fit of rage then perhaps he would begin to understand the position she was thrust in because of her own foolishness.

he had come to expect only that wylla would act upon her own whims, operate beneath her own banner of morality.
what he did not expect was to butt up against her utterance "aren't just yours," which he took as allusion that the children taking root within the pionier were not all fathered by him.
but surely that was not what wylla meant; surely she had only meant to illustrate a parallel.
he would not ask after it; would not; could not; nostrils flared briefly, and then his solitary show of unsurety was ended.
"i vould not enjoy that," he said quietly, truthfully, lilac stare grown over with solemnity once more. "but i vould be comforted in some small vay to know my children would grow up as sons and daughters not only of diaspora, but of someone who vill love and adore them." himself; the lives wylla carried would want for nothing, if mahler had his way.
a dire thought; aggrieved, the gargoyle swallowed, no longer a general in this moment, but a wounded man.
"if you feel trapped, you need not continue," he muttered vaguely, unable to say it, sickened by the prospect. but he was a midwife as well, and they had told him the secrets of death as well as life.
he would not have the woman he loved turn bitter beneath his lips, soured because she had been forced to carry his seed. it was not the way to begin.

Wylla listened, but the answer Mahler gave wasn't the one she wanted to hear. A derisive snort was followed by a quiet outburst of, bullshit. She didn't mean to imply he was lying, but omitting? Certainly. It still had never occurred to Wylla that some wolves were simply more mature and more gracious and less possessive than her.

You would always wonder if I preferred those men over you, she guessed, because she felt that way. You would always wonder if your kids were the strongest, the smartest, the fastest. You would always wonder if I was more proud of them than the others. You would always wonder, and here her voice cracked because here she cut down to the very marrow of her issue. You would wonder if I would one day leave you and take them and go live with one of those others instead of you.

Maybe Mahler was capable of sharing himself in that way and doing it right. Wylla knew she wasn't, and knew how she felt about it, rife with all the insecurities that letting herself feel for him had brought on. What if she let herself embrace this only to be kicked in the teeth for it? That's how I feel, she finished.

Except she wasn't done yet, because he wasn't done yet. His suggestion put a cold ball of horror into her throat that struck her momentarily dumb. A myriad emotions flashed through her eyes and none of them was good. If anything, he only confirmed one of her deeply rooted and totally irrational fears about this whole thing: that he regretted it and regretted her and wanted it ended. Sure, she didn't want to be pregnant with his kids, but to suggest...?

I can't believe you just said that, she ground out, voice pitched low and dangerous even as unwanted tears flooded her eyes.

mahler trying to understand why she is reacting this way to his very logical suggestion /s

to anyone listening who had half a heart, mahler would have sounded cruel as all get out, and incredibly stupid to boot. he was ignorant of the reasoning behind wylla's sudden vicious voice and welling eyes, even as he struggled, now visibly, to cope with the weight of what she had just heaped upon him.
he had said he loved her. she doubted him. he had said she was above all others. she did not believe. he had told her everything, direct, earnest. and she had entered into it with him when her heat came, and he did not understand why she had not said all this before. and he could not understand why she had buried this all so well when he had asked it of her.
a true hurt blossomed in his own lavender eyes, as he stared upon his weeping beloved and tried, crushed, to piece together why she was answering him so. "vylla, i do not understand," he uttered, frustrated.
"you have told me in so many vays just now that you are not happy, and it sounds as if you never vould be! and now you are im weg der familie," he rushed on, before she hated him even more, oh!
wylla! let me explain!
"and now you regret it. and you think so awfully that i vould leave you to pursue somevone else. i did not enter into a contract vith you. i ...," he huffed, "i love you. and only you. and only ever you."
"and so i said vhat i said, vhich i see now was very bad. but it is not because i do not love you, or," he gestured at her gently rounded sides, beautiful now that he truly looked at them! why had he he not seen it?
"or vhat could be, vylla. i love that too. but if you do not love me back, then i thought it cruel not to allow you choice. i ...do not vish you to live a life tethered forever to somevone..."
his voice trailed off, feeble; he slumped in the snow and was silent, pausing only to look upon her with an anguished expression.

It was difficult to listen to Mahler after his suggestion. Even thinking about it filled Wylla with so much disgust and disappointment she wanted to turn from him, turn from Diaspora and leave all of it behind. That was too impulsive even for her, but she didn't want him in her sight and had to pointedly look away from him to calm the queasy churning of her stomach. Almost nothing was as horrible to her as the choice he gave her; as if he believed she was capable of it!

He was scrambling to explain himself, reassuring her that he loved her, but Wylla didn't want his reassurances. She wanted him to show it, and so far, she was convinced what he said didn't match what was in his heart. I'm not happy! was her outburst. I like you, Mahler, but I wasn't in my right mind. I didn't want it like this, I don't want to be part of your damn harem! I want a proper family! But she hadn't really considered the consequences; she'd let instinct grip her too tightly and now it was happening and she wasn't prepared and it wasn't how she wanted it.

But to think I would kill them just because I wanted things to be different? What the fuck is wrong with you?! Unborn or not, it was all the same to Wylla. She would never hurt a child. She wouldn't even have been able to harm one of Caiaphas' children; the threat she'd made so long ago on the beach was an empty one. She wouldn't have been able to kill Tiercel if Durnehviir commanded it, even though she'd offered. It was the one thing Wylla's moral compass would never point south on. Tiercel was the best damn thing that ever happened to me and the guy who got me pregnant with her practically raped me, she shrieked. That wasn't really what happened but seeing as she'd attacked Raptor right afterward and still had a lot of animosity for him, it might as well have been.

Even if you didn't love me and I didn't love you I would never harm them like that, she fiercely declared. At least he acknowledged that his suggestion was a terrible one. She looked up to find him in the snow with hurt written across his face and she deflated, only a little. Just because I'm not pleased with the circumstances doesn't mean I don't want them, she said, still harsh but softened a little by his expression. Or you.

THE SOUND I MADE

OMG

ART

he shuttered beneath her onslaught, turning stoneflower gaze to behold the snow unseeingly as she castigated him, tore at him as only she could. as only he would ever allow from wylla. only the tensing of his jaw from time to time suggested that she had found her mark several instances over, and when she had finished, mahler could only find a desperate sort of solace in the silence that followed.
harem. rape. a proper family.
he mulled, brooded; the gargoyle knew the interminable stretch of quiet was unfair, but he simply had no words at present. she had muted him, the sunflower lit spitfire, forced him to contemplate the horrid nature of the actions he had taken.
how selfish, to place her so.
a proper family, with a dedicated father, a strong mother, children between them, and they alone.
a low sigh.
"you are right, of course," he began, wearily. "it is not their burden to bear. i should not have suggested that ve exact ... anything from them." was he coherent now? the general could not tell.
would there always be this deep and yawning incompatibility between them? he loved her, desperately. and she, returning a like, but they had built upon a lopsided foundation, and now
now there would be children.
the shadowpriest straightened. "vill you allow me to hunt for you, now? sometimes," mahler added swiftly, not meaning to insinuate that wylla was helpless in any way. a thousand times over she had proven that, and now looped briars round her heart, thorns upon which he had cut himself in his lackadaisacal assumptions that the she-wolf felt the same about him as he had of her.
a half-hearted roll of his shoulders, a glance to wylla, to her daylily eyes and the soft new lushness to her sinewy body. "i vant them too," mahler muttered.
"and you." even if it is not the same.

The fire burned out of Wylla more quickly than it usually did. This could be chocked up to the fact that she did care for Mahler and she didn't want to hurt him unduly, even though he was unintentionally hurting her. He couldn't give her what she wanted anymore than she could declare everlasting love for him right this second. It was only a seed taking root and growing shoots for now, and it was forever being hammered by Wylla's insecurity and doubt. There was no telling if its fragile buds would stand the test of time or not.

She was relieved that Mahler didn't press the issue of killing their unborn offspring. It was unfair of Wylla to assume he would, but despite him literally saying he loved them, too, she was at least halfway convinced he would just regret all of this. How could he not? He thought she didn't love him back.

Wylla didn't know what to say, so she dove into the heart of her, sucked in a slow breath, and began to say the only things that came to mind, latching on to his declaration of "if you don't love me back". Your love is fast, she remarked. We didn't know each other very well in Grimnismal and yet you claimed you loved me even then. It's fast and it grows fast and it has deep roots despite that. I never believed that kind of love could be enduring or real. She still wasn't totally convinced his love wouldn't sputter out as fast as it kindled.

Mine isn't like that. Wylla chewed her lip for a second, fighting a momentary wave of nausea—from the pregnancy or from the tension, she wasn't sure. Mine is slow and unsure and... and scared. It doesn't happen overnight, if it happens at all, but it's real and it lasts when it does. In other words, Wylla was afraid of love—afraid of the vulnerability it caused and the pain it invited. She fought against it. The only exception was love for her children—hers for Tiercel had been immediate and absolute, even though she'd kind of treated her daughter like a burden. That was just... how she was. How she handled a situation she wasn't ready for.

I do love you back, she admitted, face burning as she glared at the snow between her paws. But it's young and it's still growing, it's not big and grand like yours yet. You really think I would've let you touch me if I felt nothing for you? Although she hadn't loved Raptor or even liked him, so that was easy to refute, but still. I just didn't want things to happen like this. I wanted there to be a chance for us to figure this out first. I didn't want to be just another of your baby mamas, I wanted... She wanted the sex. She wanted Mahler's embrace. She didn't want to become pregnant with his kids before giving her feelings space to grow and flourish and she didn't want to have to watch him leave to visit all his other children elsewhere. She wanted a family, a real one, with stability that she and Tiercel never had in theirs.

But that was the reality now, and she couldn't feel completely thrilled about it because she was now meant to share something she didn't want to share, not even for the good of Diaspora. His question about hunting went unanswered and forgotten.

mahler thought that wylla had just provided him with the most valuable insight into the emotional world he had never quite been able to conquer.
stunned, he was stonelike for a long heartspan of moments, breathing gently in between the moments she granted him. imageries of a world with wylla spun silken in his mind from the tendril of his returned love, and he began to see it as a sproutling, in need of a soft care only the pair of them could grant.
"vylla," mahler began, and, then his voice contorted with a manful sob, which he cut away in favor of a stoic stare out across the snow. a spate of rapid blinking as jawline tightened and throat rumbled with a deep, sudden hoarseness.
but when he turned back to her, the lavender had gone ashimmer with a foreign, rare wetness. "gottverdamt," the gargoyle chuckled dizzily. "i did not think you vould ever ..."
a squaring of broad shoulders; mahler composed himself fully now. "i have been ... confusing, i know now," he started anew, cautious energy in his lilac gaze. "i have told you vone thing and done another. i —"
how unheard of, these lapses in his ability!
"— prized routine over love. promise over any feelings. i made arrangements before you returned, and then vhen ... ach!" he turned his eyes once more to the pale expanse, frustrated with himself.
"only vone time before did i ever love another, and vhat i feel for you is more full and realized than i knew at that time," he sighed. marigold, the greatest and most beautiful guilt he would ever experience.
"i did not connect feeling to vhat i do vith my body. i could not understand why you did." lips parting; the watercolor purple of his eyes shifting back to her open features, the vulnerability of all she had said.
"it is svift, yes, moreso than yours. but it has never faltered. even if you had never come back, it vould have not left me. it has not this long time yet." gaze moved to her body again; mahler could not help himself, compromised as he was. "but now? vylla, i —" the gargoyle's eyes searched her face, "i fault myself for not vaiting longer for you. i vould have vaited forever had i known there vas but an inkling you might return."

In the aftermath of her confession, Wylla could only wish she hadn't said so much. Why now did sentiment come knocking at her door, kicking down her walls and making her spill her secrets to this man? She knew the answer, she'd just said as much to him, but it was a more powerful force than she'd ever reckoned with before. She'd always been able to hide behind a veil of sarcasm and clipped humour, but while the compulsion was still there, it was being overridden.

She blamed the pregnancy for making her soft. The reality was that beneath all the barbs and spikes and flaming tar, there was a soft little wolf who desperately wanted to protect herself, and that was Wylla at her core.

It was her turn to be made to feel a little dizzy by his proclamations. Wylla knew very little of Mahler's past life and love, which he obviously intended, but she knew there'd been kids involved, presumably planned ones. Kids who were killed by the fever that claimed most of Mahler's former pack. She wondered if his former love was taken by that event as well and if that was what made him so stoic and honour-bound, so unmoved from his plans by things like emotion. It would explain a lot, although from what he said, it seemed like it was a young love. Fresh. New, kind of like her feelings now were. Strangely, it gave her hope that if things went completely south for them, she wouldn't be wholly shattered by it. A foolish thought.

Mahler had a lot to say and in the end Wylla remained unsure. He'd made his plans and his promises. She knew he was too honourable to break them even now, and so they were in the same place: her, greedy for him alone, and he, bound by his word to share himself. She chewed the inside of her cheek and pulled her yellow gaze away from him. It's not your fault, she said. It was painful at long last to really admit this, but she would never grow—they would never grow—if she kept childishly fleeing from responsibility. For not waiting. I was a real bag of dicks to you before Tiercel and I left, it's not like I gave you any impression that if I did come back here, I'd give you the time of day. And there was no guarantee I'd ever... feel for you, so... it'd be dumb to wait on an unknown. Not quite an apology, and it was followed by something akin to her usual humour, but it was a start.

And, she murmured, stomach clenching with nerves, it's not like I stopped you. I wanted you, so I came to you, but I should've known what would happen. I should've known that this would change things. And Wylla had, but she'd ignored it. Sucking in a breath, the little Pionier took several steps to close the distance between them, hesitated for just a second, then leaned forward and dipped her head down to press her crown to the General's collarbone, seeking his comfort and warmth.