Sleepy Fox Hollow Gave up on it, but honey, you got my hopes up

in the time they had been parted, mahler had taken the structure of diaspora and overturned it with an announcement. without knowing if he still retained takiyok's support, the gargoyle had been plagued by a sense of uncertainty.
he had been willing to seek amends when he rose with the burning fragrance assailing him, thrumming upon his every fiber and creating a dull hum that drowned out most else.
the brute had become untethered from the rope of logical thought that so usually tethered him; thus when wylla arced her perfumes into the airspace and pushed against the constraints he had sundered, mahler laved tongue against suddenly visible teeth in a silent warning.
decoupled from the constraints of impassive reality which might have instead led him to question her, the shadowpriest fell to simply wolf, as was their dance.
diaspora belonged to him. 
in this moment with head clouded and eyes aflame, he saw no reason why she too was not a possession, to be guarded and claimed and covered until no other man might see fit to plunder.
not by force, but for the very nature of the need that tensed them both into the start of a clash.