Jade Fern Grove klagelied

It was folly to delve wholly into the misguided belief that Mahler was here because he was searching for her. Delirium. But she fell into it heart and soul, warmed finally, finally, that he put his pride and his territory and his politics behind him to look for her. There were any numbers of reasons he might be here, but she chose to think it was for her. She had to.

Her, for whom no one but a green-eyed yearling on the cusp of manhood cared, but Mahler had come. That was all that mattered.

If she was in her right mind, his overly formal and detached words would have rankled. She had never looked or felt worse than she did now. It was an insult to say otherwise. If she was in her right mind, she would have been offended by the indifference she sensed in his tone, the male ego bludgeoning her yet again, as it always had.

Instead, her cracked psyche took over. She heard I missed you. She let her paws pull her forward, relieved that at the end of everything, he chose to come looking for her. He wouldn't let her be alone. He loved her. He loved her.

Maybe he would spot some hint of her manic state and the heartsickness in her eye before she let her eyelids press together and abruptly butted her cheek to his shoulder and breathed, with more desperate relief than she thought it was possible to feel, you came after me.