Sawtooth Spire Wanna believe, wanna believe that you don't have a bad bone in your body

Wylla's expectations would simply never be met by Mahler, it seemed.

She imagined him understanding the razor's edge of pain in her accusations. She imagined that he would realize how shitty he'd been to her lately; hell, the man made more of an effort with her before she'd reciprocated any of his feelings than he did now that she was the mother of his children, and a hard worked one, at that! She'd imagined that perhaps he would realize the harm he'd done to their young daughter, would sweep her into his arms and apologize, bear the vulnerability of his soul, offer up an acceptable reason why he was gone all the time (it wasn't like he was the pack's only leader, no matter how much everyone pretended he was!) and swear to do better.

Instead, Mahler did what Mahler did best in Wylla's disillusioned eyes: he offered a single sentence, no remorse or acknowledgement whatsoever for anything she had said, and turned to leave.

Really?! she wailed after him, having failed to notice the rustling of the leaves where Phaedra huddled, nor the telltale sounds of departure. You're just gonna walk away from me? Again?! Back when Mahler owed her nothing, back when she was only here to search for Tiercel, she'd speared him just as thoroughly, she thought, and he hadn't turned away from her. His patience was that of a saint, then. Now, he was as cold as a sharp steel blade, and seemed hellbent on refusing any responsibility for his actions, at her expense. She remained blind to the part she played in driving him away again and again—she felt justified in her anger, her pain.

What had changed, besides Wylla holding him accountable for his part in what was meant to be a partnership? For expecting more of him? Her idea of love was old-fashioned, perhaps, built on an assumption that despite her father's total absence in her life, Lusca and Tachyon had loved one another above all. Whether it was false or not, she'd always believed it. She'd believed Mahler's love would be transcendent, once she began feeling similarly. If she'd known that it would be like this...

Well, she hadn't, and now she paid the price for that.