Sleepy Fox Hollow To the house in the pines where the road ends

mahler glanced away as wylla set to devouring what was left of the limp corpse, politely refusing to stare. the tension between them had thickened, rising to a choking crescendo as she finished and raised her sunlit gaze to regard him with what he believed was wariness.
"thank you for going so far, vylla. it is dangerous to travel vith these changes, and moreso around volves who struggle as ve have." he paused as a wave of sheepishness coursed his blood — mahler's breath emerged in a low sigh and he motioned back along the hare-trail.
"vill you valk vith me?" the gargoyle asked softly, hesitantly; the veil had fallen from the lilac ice of his features, and contrition lurked in the undercurrent of his invitation. 
so very tired was he of parting with wylla under bittersweet circumstances. there must be another way, an understanding to which they might come that he did not need her to reciprocate his feeling.
it would be a lie to state that mahler did not still sting from the last time her razor-edged tongue had been swung against him, but here they were now, and suddenly the man wanted nothing more than to buoy the energy between them.