Sleepy Fox Hollow Where I thought I knew it all before I knew what love was

Wylla wished she could be so sure. You don't know her, she protested, although she'd known Mahler visited with Tiercel when she was very little. She would never know that Mahler was the reason her daughter favoured purple flowers and had spoken with them specifically when she was young enough to still personify the world around her, though. Never red or yellow flowers; only purple. Her attitude bears a striking resemblance to a tornado and she has a stubborn streak ten miles wide.

Big words coming from her; it wasn't hard to imagine where Tiercel got all that from.

Mahler, of course, chose precisely that moment to strike Wylla dumb with his bald audacity once more. She blinked slowly, tensing a little at his forwardness and struggling again to keep shock from her features. He was very quick to tack on that he only meant to offer his land for her to sleep on and she unwound just a little. A safe place for the night was always welcome, and of course even forthcoming Mahler surely was not that brazen.

But Wylla was ever looking for the next weak point in others, and her scrutinous gaze narrowed. Do you still creep into others' sleeping quarters? she drawled, once again taking a jab at his presentation at her borders so long ago, when she mistook his offer of his strength to her pack as some sort of proposition. Then he tripped over his words and Wylla outright scowled, flicking her tail pensively back and forth. Clever though she was with piss and vinegar commentary, she hated guessing at what others meant when they trailed off like that.

Want what? was her impatient demand.