Sleepy Fox Hollow Folk star

THE SOUND I MADE

OMG

ART

he shuttered beneath her onslaught, turning stoneflower gaze to behold the snow unseeingly as she castigated him, tore at him as only she could. as only he would ever allow from wylla. only the tensing of his jaw from time to time suggested that she had found her mark several instances over, and when she had finished, mahler could only find a desperate sort of solace in the silence that followed.
harem. rape. a proper family.
he mulled, brooded; the gargoyle knew the interminable stretch of quiet was unfair, but he simply had no words at present. she had muted him, the sunflower lit spitfire, forced him to contemplate the horrid nature of the actions he had taken.
how selfish, to place her so.
a proper family, with a dedicated father, a strong mother, children between them, and they alone.
a low sigh.
"you are right, of course," he began, wearily. "it is not their burden to bear. i should not have suggested that ve exact ... anything from them." was he coherent now? the general could not tell.
would there always be this deep and yawning incompatibility between them? he loved her, desperately. and she, returning a like, but they had built upon a lopsided foundation, and now
now there would be children.
the shadowpriest straightened. "vill you allow me to hunt for you, now? sometimes," mahler added swiftly, not meaning to insinuate that wylla was helpless in any way. a thousand times over she had proven that, and now looped briars round her heart, thorns upon which he had cut himself in his lackadaisacal assumptions that the she-wolf felt the same about him as he had of her.
a half-hearted roll of his shoulders, a glance to wylla, to her daylily eyes and the soft new lushness to her sinewy body. "i vant them too," mahler muttered.
"and you." even if it is not the same.