Little Goat Mountain bewusstsein

for a length of time she was silent, and he turned his mind back to the caves. there was nothing to be found here, but mahler knew this fruitless endeavor had perhaps been the more intriguing of them. wylla was more than a good companion, she presented an avid challenge for his starved mind.
unsure whether or not he had placed distance between them with his admission of intimacy when it came to another, mahler did not press through the quietude with words. he coaxed the low hill one last time with a resigned sweep of his eyes, muzzle lifted to the air, and then arced back in the direction of diaspora.
a bemused curl of his lips now; their discourse today had been livid with unsaid things, bold with those that had been uttered aloud, but still wylla seemed unsure of what he had said beneath the frigid winter moon. 
"no vone has ever distracted me from you," he repeated, more plainly, thinking of the last heated exchange he had shared with andraste. and then mahler drew them on, for continuing to linger here in their conversation would only strain things. "vhat vill you do vhen vinter is ended?"