Nova Peak If you must mourn, my love, mourn with the moon and the stars up above

Oh, said Wylla, feeling astoundingly dumb when presented with the knowledge that names didn't change. That seemed obvious, in hindsight. She pursed her lips and tried to think of what else she'd like to learn. Before she could even conjure up something (there was a particular phrase she was looking for, but she didn't want to ask it right off the bat in case Phaedra latched onto her intentions and beat her to the punch, that would be embarrassing for her), the sun-spun Skarp asked for one question in return.

You can ask me however many questions you want, at any time, said Wylla, unable to mask the confusion that wound through her tone. Why do you think you can only ask one? The immediacy of the assumptions she made was startling, but characteristic. Who but Mahler would've made her feel so unsure of herself? Wylla was wholly unaware of the role she'd played in Phaedra's turmoil, having believed she was the better, more reliable parent all this time. She was still completely oblivious that their daughter had overheard their shouting match.