Jade Fern Grove klagelied

tension filling his every artery as wylla floated close, an abrupt airiness buoying her step. a sharp intake of breath as she reached for him — and he was submerged in the acrid flame of his love for her, darksmoke and oiled. wylla burned him with the nudge of her small crown. 
for a long moment the gargoyle quailed — he wanted to sweep her small body closer, assure himself of the breath that kept her existence as the hopeful star in his night,
he could not help himself; he,
turned very subtly the flat of his muzzle against her head and there;
mahler found a fragrance he thought only blindly was unfamiliar; she smelled of the wildwood and the open air and the stoneways and otherness. and through the miasma the shadowpriest decided, erroneously or no, in that sharp gutting moment it was man he caught upon her withers, and with a sudden harsh motion he stumbled backwards from the sickly sweet longing in his heartstrings.
wylla no longer held familiarity, and so the promise of her new choice surely was the only option —
jealousy choking him, and he recalled only a moment before when wylla's stare had glinted empty. mahler gazed down at her with new eyes, stared off over her head as composure eventually retrained itself to his figure. "for vhat do you need me now, vylla?" voice hoarse, strained.