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

it seemed he had not recovered from his recent time in courtfall; he had returned to diaspora somehow more jaded for it. mahler could appreciate wylla's opening, but the suspicion remained, and he resigned himself to allowing that a dissipation on its own time.
this was spurred along by the portrait she sketched in rough lines of she alongside him; mahler nearly faltered the next stride, but recovered with only a small sign of it. elation struck a chord in his heart; he spun through yearning and heartache and the faint whisper that he did not yet see as hope come to call upon his soul once more.
the pleasure her words had created in him was swiftly, nakedly apparent for a handful of moments, before his features arranged themselves into his usual silent shroud.
"i did not ever see myself as general," he admitted; mahler had expected stigmata to live a great age, and would have served happily as his brother's kapitän for each of those years.