Little Goat Mountain bewusstsein

It wasn't her place. It wasn't her place! But ever had Wylla been a judgmental woman and quick to give her opinion, and she felt the wrongness of Mahler's plans on many levels all at once. The logical, the political and yes, the emotional—a quick and brief flash of indignation that he could be so selfish after daring to say things like no one has distracted me from you to her! What a hypocrite she was to scour his face with her yellow gaze as they walked, finding only fault in his decisions.

Easier for you, maybe, she snorted around the bone. Not easier for the kids. I had one child to raise and she was such a handful I fear she would have wanted for my attention if there had been more. Her father was mostly absent and I think she feels it. I felt my father's absence in my life. The former comment spoke not to Mahler's capabilities, but Wylla's lack thereof, but she had never been great at seeing her own flaws. Sometimes they were obvious, but usually, they weren't. The latter was a simple truth she believed in. Loveless contracts are convenient but you would do better having a single litter and making them proud to call you their father than having many whose children resent your inability to be a constant in their lives. There are other ways to make alliances.

Doing it with kids sounds selfish to me, she tacked on, almost welcoming the rebuttal she was certain would come. They'd had a nice time exploring the caves and she'd had fun playing twenty-one questions until it turned around and slashed the jugular of her ego, but as it always was with them, things were destined to flare sooner or later, and she was speaking on a subject she had no right to comment on.