Little Goat Mountain bewusstsein

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).