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

he was learning, albeit slowly, not to take every edge of wylla's tongue as a personal slight. she lived a life cushioned by sarcasm and sharp words; from what the woman wanted protection, he did not know, nor would he presume to understand.
unbidden, the harsh words mahler had exchanged with andraste spilled blackly into his awareness, and he held himself braced against that particular mind-door for the present. but even as the gargoyle mounted a defense against his own thoughts, he was searching around the edge of his current discourse with wylla, wondering how he might return to courtfall with his dignity intact but his apology forthcoming.
another time.
"i am tenacious," mahler answered, heliotrope stare warming to the joke she made. and here an undercurrent; mahler has been persistent in his love, though wylla might very well disbelieve him for all that the shadow knew.
"it does suck," the general agreed, the unfamiliar directness of the word sitting uneasily with him; he did not think that the term would be used again. "but i suppose there are benefits. and i am proud to be diaspora's head. i expect you felt the same. i hope that you did."
pausing to shake out his ruff, mahler stretched his tall body in a languid way and gave a single sway of his plume as his gaze settled gently upon wylla. "i keep caches of herbs through several territories. near to here is vone such. vould you care to accompany me to it?"