Little Goat Mountain bewusstsein

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.