Sleepy Fox Hollow Folk star

he had come to expect only that wylla would act upon her own whims, operate beneath her own banner of morality.
what he did not expect was to butt up against her utterance "aren't just yours," which he took as allusion that the children taking root within the pionier were not all fathered by him.
but surely that was not what wylla meant; surely she had only meant to illustrate a parallel.
he would not ask after it; would not; could not; nostrils flared briefly, and then his solitary show of unsurety was ended.
"i vould not enjoy that," he said quietly, truthfully, lilac stare grown over with solemnity once more. "but i vould be comforted in some small vay to know my children would grow up as sons and daughters not only of diaspora, but of someone who vill love and adore them." himself; the lives wylla carried would want for nothing, if mahler had his way.
a dire thought; aggrieved, the gargoyle swallowed, no longer a general in this moment, but a wounded man.
"if you feel trapped, you need not continue," he muttered vaguely, unable to say it, sickened by the prospect. but he was a midwife as well, and they had told him the secrets of death as well as life.
he would not have the woman he loved turn bitter beneath his lips, soured because she had been forced to carry his seed. it was not the way to begin.