Noctisardor Bypass lieblichkeit

the leaves above silverstream were changing.
mahler lay with his crown pillowed upon @Wylla's flank, looking up toward the proud arch of her neck and the single goldveldt sheen of her eye. it limned him in love, and his gaze back toward her was earnest.
he did not want to serve above her;
her place was at his side;
above him, truly. she belonged there more than any other who lived within this world.
but mahler let these words pass. "you make me vant to sing poetry," he said at last, a smile capturing his features with impulsive lilac light.
the stream ran along, burbling along their backdrop with an idyllic sound, two lovers caught in the slow and sugared days of summerglow paling to autumn's chill.
"but alas," mahler said, deadpan, "i am not a very good singer."

It would be nice to lounge below the yellowing leaves for hours with Mahler's head bobbing just so on the gentle rise and fall of her side. Her mate. It still felt weird to think the word, much less say it aloud, but it settled some long-wild part of her that floundered in the jealousy of not having him to herself. She could say for the first time in a long time she was genuinely happy, despite knowing she could not stay and merely hope he would get better.

As she turned her single eye down to him, the empty socket of the other crinkling with a soft smile and hint of mirth, the sickness itself was far from her mind. If it bogged him down any, it hadn't done so the night prior. You should, she said, pressing her nose fondly into the side of his neck with a quiet snigger. I promise I won't laugh. They both knew it was an empty promise, if he was really so bad at singing.

Heaving a quiet sigh, she curled tighter around him, as if to shield him from whatever invisible beast was eating him from the inside. She knew she had to leave if she wanted to make good time to the coast. Caiaphas would be her first stop. The witch might take her life in exchange for Mahler's, and if not, then it was time best wasted early on. Wylla was loathe to cut their time short, however, and made no motion to leave. Instead, she searched for another topic, another excuse to stay a little longer at his side.

Does this make me a Mahler now, too? she wondered, cheekily poking out her tongue and adding, Gustav.

mahler could not keep from loving her as she spoke, though he pretended to reel in cringing shame at her utterance of his first name. "of course, mein liebling!" he grinned, adjusting himself at the closer press of her warm body. "vylla mahler. mm."
"i like the sound.  but it is not musical enough perhaps, look," and here, captured completely by impulse and buoyed by her amused, radiant gaze, he sang out the two names in a rich and unbroken toss of baritone, rusting now just at its edges. once he had been a young musiker, searching for the places were notes could be kept and held. he had not found them until grimnismal; but now he saw that their discovery had been in wylla.
she had been such an eternal source of music in his years. damn him, for those gone by in unrecognized space.
the sound was surprising for the gargoyle. he had thought his vocals ravaged by the cough and its time — mahler tried valiantly to pull himself, pull himself back from that maliciously ugly precipice.
not now.
she breathed, and he was carried at once back to the misted place of dizzying lovespell and pleasure; he watched her for a long and sweetmint moment, considering.
"suppose you and i chose a name. for us, and for our family." his eyes shone; mahler would deny her nothing.

Mahler weaved his masterful voice through the changing autumn leaves, bringing to mind the richness of seal fat in her mouth and the full-bodied aroma of the forest after a seaside storm. Her eye shone with mischief. To think all this time, he had been keeping that hidden!

Wow, she murmured when her mate trailed off. How come you never sang before? This was a talent only Mahler had, for Wylla's singing voice would make a banshee's wail sound like an angel's chorus. She resisted the same impulse that swept him up in its arms and spared him the disappointment of learning his love could only crow like a bird with bronchitis.

Mmm, she said, shifting to whap him gently with her tail. In all her years, Wylla had never thought to give herself a proper surname. Thinking of it now, she still could come up with nothing. Nothing she would want to share with her children or with Mahler, at least. Well, you know me. Not the creative type. What would you call us?

"sonnenwasser," he chuckled softly, as much for her tail
her breath beneath his head was a soothing thing;
mahler thought he could walk down the moonlit path — he thought in this moment he would be able to do anything.
"sunlight on the vater."
belatedly; "i never had a reason to sing. until you."
mahler settled himself more warmly against wylla.
"perhaps sagtannet. perhaps only sawtooth."
all of those names. none of them. he existed in the wheeling space between daydream and consciousness.

Sonnenwasser.

A little on the romantic side, thought Wylla when he explained what it meant. She wouldn't call their courtship romantic, though if one cut away all the burrs and snags, perhaps at its core it was. Those thoughts aside, she quite liked the sound of it, which was rare when it came to his language. That had to be a sign.

Sonnenwasser, she tested it out, tripping a little on the syllables. She'd get the hang of it, eventually. If nothing else, she would force herself to learn that word's pronunciation for his sake. She had never taken much of an interest in his words, and employing her Lauren of a daughter to teach her some of them had gone awry. The least she could do for him was this. Besides, Phaedra would like it a lot, I think.

Well, she went on, stretching and banishing some unkind thoughts on Sagtannet and Sawtooth, I'd sing for you, but I think a sick goose would put on a better performance, so I'll spare you. She knew she had to tell him that she needed to leave soon, but she didn't want to ruin the moment, so she let herself bask quietly in his aura. Who knew how much longer she would get to do this? No, you will save him, she told herself, but felt the beginnings of doubt in her stomach.

phaedra. he smiled.
thade's prolonged absence unsettled the man but not as much as before. he had seen their son enough times to believe that the boy still lived.
and rivenwood would remain here upon the day that the young wolf returned.
it was suddenly, jarringly odd to think that phaedra was no longer a gangly child. mahler somehow feared that she too would leave them.
he gathered himself closer to wylla and closed his eyes. "i vould velcome your voice in any sound it made."
his words hung with love and with adoration. the gargoyle had felt this words upon his soul. fierce, unbound love welled inside of him, and for a long and true moment he felt utterly at peace.

Ah, he would, would he? Wylla knew a song or two, compliments of her mother's raunchy humour, that might twist even Mahler's whiskers into a knot. They were all sea shanties meant to be sang in a rowdy uproar, so required little more than a sense of rhythm. Her rough, off-tune voice suited them quite well. So, pitching her voice quiet so only he might hear, she sang a few verses from the bawdiest she knew:

The forty second fusiliers come marching into town,
and with 'em come the complement of rapists of renown.
They busted every maidenhead that came within their spell,
but they never made the medic from the High Tide cartel.

Next come a company of the prince of Island dogs,
They piled into the whoredens and they packed into the bogs,
Many a maiden, mistress, and a wife before them fell,
but they never made the medic from the High Tide cartel.

She snorted with laughter, unable to continue. My mom used to sing about shit like that, she explained, lest he harrumph and leave to find himself some less improper company. To embarrass us, I think.

wylla often shocked him but this would rank foremost of the times;
with each passing lyric mahler grew more and more scandalized. it showed plainly upon the way his ears came forward and fell back, and how his brows seemed to rise higher and higher until they were in danger of falling from his head.
when wylla had finished and given her explanations, mahler was silent for a long moment. he settled himself more easily near her and laughed aloud in surprise and perhaps something more. "i have a veritable pirate for a vife!" he exclaimed, hiding the titillated gallop of his heart with humour.
it had not been her lewd words, it had been the open and good and untamed spirit of wylla, blooming forth in her voice and her eyes and the sound of her song.
"it seems your mother vas unsuccessful," mahler observed dryly. "i vould not vant it any other vay, however."

She tried her damnedest, though, Wylla replied, settling back and fondly remembering every time her mother had pulled a prank on her or sang bawdily to scare away the fish when she and Ingram were trying to catch them. It occurred to her that her mother must be getting quite old now. She wondered how long Lusca would keep on kicking, and whether she should make the trip to visit before it was too late.

Thinking of that inevitably brought her back around to Mahler's illness and how she should not be dawdling here. Wylla sighed, growing somber. I will need to leave soon if I am to find someone who can help you before winter sets in, she said, letting her voice taper quietly at the end. If Mahler did not find some sort of treatment, would he even make it through the winter? The harsh weather wasn't going to help.

She didn't want to think about that.

at last mahler lifted his head, settling beside her in a sitting position. he looked down with worry and sorrow and love upon wylla, knowing he could no more dissuade her from what she had chosen to do than move a mountain of his own volition. 
"i vill be safe in rivenvood until you have returned," he chose to say. the man reached to kiss her forehead where the paleness dipped over her brow. mahler wished so much that he could promise his life upon the skill of the one she would seek.
he coughed.
only once, and then he burrowed his muzzle against the side of her neck, an embrace he meant to hold and to linger for as long as she was able.
"i love you."

Would that Wylla could believe Mahler. Alas, while she was inclined to trust him, she had no trust for the remainder of Rivenwood. Sequoia had already attempted to drive a wedge between them with her dramatic antics and Wylla knew nothing whatsoever of Laurel, but being yet another woman, Wylla was disinclined to have any faith in her either. The growing cubs were commendable, but they were still only children. They could not care for Mahler if he worsened in her absence.

I love you too, she said, smoothing her thin muzzle over his broader cheek. She hated the way his flesh dipped inward beneath the bone. She remained there for several beats, then reluctantly pulled away. I will return soon, she lied, knowing fully that she intended to not return at all, but to give her life to Caiaphas in exchange for the witch's means to ease his suffering.

She could never, ever tell him what she planned to do or he would not let her go, so she kept it hidden even from her eyes, which held his warmly for several moments longer. And then she got to her paws and began her journey, looking back over her shoulder with a wan smile when her aching heart nearly pulled her back to his side.