Broken Boulder endless me, endlessly

in the silence that followed, mahler felt as if sequoia had grown thoughtful. 
but he too had fallen into reverie, robotically following the instinctive call of the hunter within him as he thought of the foxhollow where wylla had first found him upon her return to the teekons. the enraged passion of their warring words; how he had poured himself out there and then before her.
wylla was home. wylla was here. a different kind of mantra then, a talisman held close to his scarred breast and repeated thereafter each time he saw her again. had she ever believed him? considering it now brought a rush of unsurety that butted up against the poison-edged image of her seeking someone new, wherever she roamed now.
a blink. the gargoyle drew a bracing breath, noting to sequoia with a silent tilt of his head the fur-tufts clutched out of their quarry's pelt, hanging on a tall thornbush. and beyond, a smear of blood. fresh but cooling quickly, perhaps the work of a robust coyote or even another wolf.