Sleepy Fox Hollow Like a dream I can reach but not quite hold.

mahler knew well he was not only flirting with disaster, he was considering a great flout of traditional, primal ways.
he would be accused of many things: that he was innately selfish, that his lust knew no bounds, that he was willing to skewer diaspora again with a thousand children to serve his aims.
and yet it was not carnal passions that drove mahler, but the deepset arc of arrogance that had always been his birthright: he alone was general, and he alone knew what  was best for his wolves.
quietly he pondered nyx, though his gaze grew pensive with a hard edge. she sought to absolve him of his duties, first as father, then as general. "of course i vould be involved," mahler intoned, a bit stung she would think so little of him.
reining his pride, knowing the she-wolf had only meant it respectfully, mahler gave a bare curve of lips. "i vould be their father even if i had not sired them," he declared, for that was the way he had always been.