Nova Peak If you must fight, fight with yourself and your thoughts in the night

their meet had not gone well. mahler watched them disperse with a sour feeling growing beneath his gut. wylla had not moved from where she had gathered them.
a growing silence. in his mind, he felt that had he interjected in defense of more discussion, he would have cruelly undermined her, but in saying aught he had done the same. and so he offered no platitude nor focus upon himself; he moved closer to the vexed lines of her tense body and blinked with lavender eyes at the tight roundness of her shoulder.
loyalty could not be forced. it was a privilege mahler had enjoyed all his life; the promise of death in the very shape of his body, but he was not without sympathy for wylla's plight. "ve keep to ourselves so that ve do not have enemies. and vhen we do, ve are not all ready to stand against them."