Jade Fern Grove klagelied

wylla seemed more feral somehow, more melded of the wind and of the field than she had been in sagtannet; something unchained in her gaze now, naked. and at once she appeared halfway carved of stone as he had been, one foot upon a gothic precipice and the other ensnared in the druidlike call of the wilderness.
frightening. damning. and he would have railed against himself to hear her soft inward crying, the relief blushing through wylla even as metallic claspings held he himself rooted to the cold ground.
snow eddying through the air, etching arcs around the curvature of her face, the edge of his jawline. blinking, words dying a quick death inside his mouth, each one he pulled up from his soul too vulnerable, too heartfelt, too cold, too imperfect.
and so he did not know how to answer the question in her gaze, fumbling his own downward with a tight blink before he faced her again. in the air of a captain folding arms behind his back, the gargoyle looked upon his soulshard.
"you look vell."