Sleepy Fox Hollow lächeln

for a moment it seemed as if wylla might yield, and mahler was seized by a sudden dread that their pairing would only serve to sully this delicate thing they had built between them.
her teeth continued little pulls upon his chest, but her movements had grown pensive; mahler wished to kiss her cheeks, the corner of one eye, to soothe her. whatever wylla decided, he would not stand against it.
it was right that she draw aside now, and the general mirrored her gesture with a small nod. logical or elsewise, mahler could not help the small stinging blow to his desire. it mattered little; he would not speak of it.
her sun-swallowed gaze was soft and yet filled with a thousand things he could not translate; he watched her with a rare glint of the same openness, then nodded again.
"perhaps you are right." to want this so badly — it could only end in bitterness if they allowed themselves to step into the heated dance.
he could not help his guilty wishing that wylla might change her mind, but he would never ask it of her. there were too many things that might be risked if she slipped loose the rein of control, fewer than he must suffer as a man as and as general.
and of the season — he could only hope she might sequester herself away, and thereby be safe from the ravages of strange proud wolves who would encircle the hollow and cry out for her to meet them.