Nova Peak If you must mourn, don't do it alone

A dart of agony and discomfiture lanced his heart; he loved his father, and he loved Wylla -- but the thought of his father being proud of him (and the thought of that heavy compliment) had his guts in a twist and his eyes more than just misty. He looked away while Wylla ate, trying to temper the rise of emotion that baldly clawed at his throat.

"Thanks," was all the boy managed, eyes downcast. Happy to hear the subject change, Stag thought after lighter topics -- like Zarya, probably dead somewhere with crows picking out her eyes. Or that's how Stag envisioned it, given she had a penchant for flirting with danger. "Dunno, maybe a day or so. I bet Mahler would have caught her eventually." Soft-hearted as he was, he was inclined to agree with Wylla. Wolves that stupid truly had no business walking among them. "It makes me think of all the wolves, that come and go. Stay with us a bit and then leave us forever." His throat was doing that bothersome constricting thing again. "Why? Why are people like that?" Wylla had never left. He had never left (ok he did totally get snapped up by the checker this week, mea culpa). Mahler hadn't gone anywhere.. But everyone else treated him (and Sagtannet by extension) like he was just an inconvenient set of revolving doors - spin and out, in and out, over and over and over.