Sleepy Fox Hollow Folk star

"the little vones," he dared. he had done this with marigold, and was struck suddenly with a little vignette of memory: his bride reclining in sunlight, he at her side, murmuring awkwardly to the gentle swell of her sides. a flash of a smile at wylla then, bidding her to tell him if it was too great an intimacy for the moment.
"i think that children know the voice of their father and mother," he told to wylla gently, softly. "i vould like them to hear mine." would she understand, he hoped.
an image so idyllic surged within mahler now; he filled with a warmth, and knew the truth of his love, the breadth of it.
he would be hers, once he had kept his promises. he would be no man who abandoned children. their mothers too, he knew; his duties would not end when they had brought forth his young.
but mahler belonged to wylla.
he had always belonged to her.